


Moonlit Walks, Coffee, and a Dragon

by PrinceofKawaii



Series: Moonlit Walks Universe [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Asexual Sans, Budding Relationship, F/M, Hanging Out, I don't know what I'm doing, I'm so sorry for the ending, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Nightmares, Reader Is Not Frisk, Sans Has Issues, Soul Touching, being friends, blue tongue, completely gender-neutral reader, no descriptive terms for reader, reader has hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5774473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceofKawaii/pseuds/PrinceofKawaii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You take walks in the middle of the night to get rid of some extra energy. He takes them because of his night terrors. You two bond, and it ends up working out for everyone involved.</p><p>Follow the journey of, well, yourself, as you meet and become friends with Sans. After a lot of stolen moments, the two of you develop a lot of trust and affection towards each other, and it ends up becoming more than just a friendship. You make him promise he'll never leave you.</p><p>He doesn't make promises, but he still doesn't. Not technically, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written a fanfiction in a long time, and I just spouted out this nonsense. This is also my first contribution to the Undertale fandom whatsoever, and I'm sick of looking at this.
> 
> I'll probably write another chapter or something later. But it feels good to be a little bit creative again. College has been kicking my ass, and unwinding feels good.

The night is long, filled with a sort of immeasurable silence that’s only broken by the music coming from your headphones. You’d been recently going on a YouTube binge, adding things to your playlist and listening to it over and over, the songs ever on shuffle so the experience was never the same twice. Other than that, though, nothing seems to be on the agenda. And by that, you mean literally nothing. Your college paper is finished, and the internet has mostly lost its illustrious appeal, as it tends to do at this time of the –

You have to glance at the window to discern what time of the day it is. Through your mostly drawn blinds, you see nothing but an inky blackness, with reflections from the office in it. That seems to indicate that it’s ass in the evening, but you never know. Winter is a strange time of year, and holds magical properties that make everything you ever know completely and utterly wrong.

This is only exacerbated by your evening classes, the sky dark before you even start. A glance at the corner of your screen indicates a time of nearly midnight. Something you probably should have checked before looking out the window. Suddenly you grow restless – it’s Saturday and you haven’t left the house once yet. You don’t even recall eating, except for that piece of leftover pizza you’d snagged out of the fridge earlier in the day. Sure, you deserved a break after all your hard work in classes, but this was taking it a smidgen too far, wasn’t it?

You push back your chair and stand, stretching out as tall as you could, fingers reaching toward the speckled, textured ceiling. Your spine pops, and you offer a slight grimace at the feeling before twisting and trying to get it crack again. It doesn’t feel good when you do it, but it certainly helps relieve the tension building up in your body from not doing anything. There was a lot of undeserved humor in that bit of irony.

Walking to your room, you cast a weary glance at the clothes spread out over the floor, debating whether or not you should do laundry before you leave, or after you get home. Or even if that’s a thing you’ll get done within the next century or two. It’s not even that much, either, it’s just kind of there. The vast majority of your clothing is clean, the most-worn things in your hamper, and the rest just sort of chilling in your dresser for whenever it is you happen to wear it. You mentally go over your wardrobe and decide that you don’t feel like wearing any of it out into the world right now. So instead of changing out of your sweats and t-shirt, you decide the absolute best thing you could do for your level of comfort while walking would be to put on your dragon onesie. Because let’s face it, who walks around outside at this time of night to even see it? And the ambient air temperature, while hovering somewhere just above freezing, wouldn’t be enough to penetrate your two layers of fuzz and warmth.

Tugging some socks on, you then tug on the loose onesie over top of your clothes, sighing when you have to fix the clothing that’s bunched up underneath it. When you’ve accomplished the task at hand, you grab your phone, wallet, and keys, stuffing them into your pockets. Heading into the bathroom, you give yourself a look over in the mirror, fixing up your hair and pulling on the hood before giving a shrug. You look decent enough to consider going out into the world in the middle of the night, and that’s good enough for you.

You go to put on your shoes, and leave the apartment you’ve managed to procure for yourself, closing and locking the door, and then double checking the handle. You’re turning to leave when you hear a door down the hall open, and haphazard a glance in that direction. It’s rare that anyone else is awake this early. The tension from the unknown leaves, comes back, and then leaves again in brief waves when you notice who it is. It’s just one of the skeleton brothers - Sans. You think you’d stay tense if it was any other monster, but from the brief times you’ve chatted, you’ve surmised that he’s a pretty decent dude.

There was still some ingrained racism toward monsters that society held that you kept reminding yourself to shake. Most of it was unfounded anyway, it was just that their presence was still new, and new things just needed to gotten used to, especially big changes that altered the entire fabric of humanity’s perceptions.

He turns to you, and the two of you share a glance, not quite knowing what to say at first. You watch idly as his expression seems to shift, and he eyes you up and down. You do the same with him, and eventually he seems to relax, the corner of his ever-present grin shifting up even further.

“*careful not to set off the smoke detectors, you _fire hazard_ ,” he says simply, looking quite pleased himself for the joke. For a second you wonder exactly why he’d say something like that, but a quick glance at yourself shows that oh, right, the onesie. You crack a grin at the comment, giving a shrug.

“I’ll try not to _hoard_ all the attention when they do,” you manage after a moment, struggling to piece together a joke in response. He seems to appreciate the effort if nothing else, giving a soft chuckle. Judging by the fact that he’s wearing slippers, he seems to be in the same boat in terms of a late-night stroll, so you decide to ask about it. “Where’re you off to?”

Sans seems to consider your question for a moment, before giving a shrug. You get the sense that he’s trying to suss up whether or not it’s a good idea to give you information in the first place. As laid back as you get the impression that he is, he also seems fairly guarded. You don’t blame him – tensions have arisen just about everywhere, and as laid back as you yourself were, it was still remarkably disconcerting to stare straight into the face of someone that’s the very depiction of human death.

“*i’ll give you an answer when i figure that out myself,” he says, and you figure that’s a respectable answer. You don’t even know where you’re going yourself. “*how about you? you seem like you’re about ready to _turn tail and fly_ right out of here.”

Okay, that one got you. Giving a bit of a laugh yourself, you tell him, “Nah, not really. I’m just gonna take a walk. Maybe grab a coffee or something from that twenty-four hour place down the road. Maybe chill at the park if it’s not completely clouded over. Steal some princesses, eat a cow. It’s all _up in the air right now_.”

Sans’ grin seems to have reached where his ears would have been, if that’s possible at all. You don’t entirely know how, considering he’s a skeleton, and skeletons shouldn’t be able to – Wait. Did his brow bone just raise? You decide that yes, while monsters are weird, skeletons are just that much weirder. There’s something unsettling about how expressive Sans is. It’s getting into a bit of Uncanny Valley territory, if you’re honest.

“* _tibia_ honest,” oh god, now he’s making jokes about his skeletal nature. Where the fuck is a tibia, even? You’ll have to brush up on your anatomy to really get the most out of your chance meetings with him. “*i don’t think i’d mind joining you for your adventures. if you don’t mind me tagging along that is. it’ll get me some leeway when pap hears i actually went somewhere.” He reaches up and rubs the vertebrae in his neck, as though scratching, or possibly in some sheepish fashion. It makes a sound that’s slightly unsettling; something akin to a click and a slightly more prominent _tock_ of a hollower thud from his phalanges moving over them. You try very hard not to cringe.

“*but if you’d rather i not join you, that’s cool, too. i’m sure you could scare just about anyone off just fine on your own.”

“No,” you say, and the suddenness of the word, while not exclaimed or anything, is still enough to cause you pause. “I mean, no, it’s fine. You can come with me if you want to. I don’t see why not.” You really don’t, either. While immensely unsettling, Sans seems harmless enough, and if he really wants to come with, it’s his own prerogative. Who knows, it might be kind of fun. “Between the two of us, we’ll be able to take on just about any knights we come across.”

For a moment, you swear the lights in his eyes become much dimmer, grin becoming a tad more unsettling, but it passes so quickly that you have to blink and wonder if you’d even seen it at all. It’s late, and your eyes are probably playing tricks on you. Probably more of that uncalled for prejudice. Even so, you can’t shake the almost imperceptible shiver that travels down your spine, skin pricking in the middle of your back. It gets a little worse when he says the following,

“*trust me, kid. If anyone tries, they’re going to have a b a d t i m e.” After a brief flicker, he seems to notice just how uncomfortable you look, and gives a grin and a laugh that has you letting out a small, relieved breath. “*sorry, didn’t mean to _rattle your bones_. i’m just messin’ around. come on, let’s get out of here. the hallway is almost stuffier than my bedroom.”

“Tell me about it,” you offer in vague agreement, hoping you’ll remember to open your window a crack later before crawling into bed. Sans walks past you at a leisurely pace, and you note the almost shuffle of a pace and the slight droop to his shoulders. It’s not your place to ask about it, or even to wonder, you surmise, as Sans is still practically a stranger. You know his brother a little better than you do him. It’s… kind of difficult not to know Papyrus, really. He just tends to… assert himself. His sweet, gentle nature has helped the building acclimatize to the newer residents, though, which was a huge relief.

You follow behind the shorter male as he heads to the elevator, and your thoughts drift – not for the first time – to why the hell you agreed to let him come on your little excursion in the first place. Settling against the wall, hands in your pockets, you cast him a glance, scrutinizing, that lasts almost the entire way to the first floor. He catches you near the end, though, and you glance away, realizing you’re being rude, but notice you’re getting a similar treatment afterward. It’s as though neither of you really know what to make of the other, which is fine enough. The two of you will likely figure it out by the time you get back from… wherever it is you’re going.

Speaking of:

“Where the fuck are we going?” You question once you’ve paused in the middle of the lobby, face scrunched up slightly. If you were by yourself, you’d just _wing it_ – ‘oh for fuck’s sake’ – but in the presence of company, you find yourself hesitating. You don’t wanna bore the both of you to death, or make it awkward. Sans shifts, turning to look at you over his shoulder. For a moment you admire the way his neck curves, and the profile of his face. You wonder idly if the inside of your body is nearly as interesting, but decide that it probably isn’t and move on from the thought. He seems to be unreadable for several moments, but then the way his expression seems to soften, he seems less guarded and more tired.

“*i thought i was promised potential princess-napping,” he says, voice full of mock disappointment and enough expressiveness to make you think twice about an alternative reason for his exhaustion. It is after midnight, and not everyone is as well versed in the evening shift as you are. “*but i’ll be just as okay with a coffee and a trip to the park, like you offered before.”

That makes you feel a little better – warmer, almost; a feeling similar to relief slowly spreading through you. Knowing that the two of you have a plan fills you with determination, and Sans must have noticed the shift in your expression, because he offers a little ‘heh’ of amusement, beckoning for you to start walking with him again. Determined to make a better impression than you have been, you duck in front of him to open the door for him, and the gesture is well-received. Having him that close to you is almost amusing, because he only comes up to your nose, seems like.

The walk is relatively pleasant, if you’re completely honest with yourself. The two of you are mostly in your own worlds, but occasionally find the time to crack a joke or make a comment without grating on each other’s nerves. It’s a tentative symbiosis, one that you’ll get more used to over time, you think. Your mom always did tell you it was a good idea to maintain at least a first-name basis sort of relationship with your neighbors for the safety of yourself and the neighborhood itself. And this guy? He seems like a dude you wouldn’t mind chilling with again. Nothing wrong with making a new… friend?

You go to head towards Starbucks because it’s your default, the two of you heading inside to grab a couple drinks. You have no idea how many times you’ve thanked your lucky stars that you managed to snag an apartment near a 24 hour coffee shop regardless of what the name of said establishment was. It’s gotten you through many a long night and then some. Sans almost seems overwhelmed at first, as though not knowing what to get, but defaults to a cheesy “*i’ll have what they’re having” that causes you to snort in some sort of mixture between amusement and affection. What a loser.

Once the two of you are back outside, your drinks lovingly adorned with the names Sans and Serif – which you thought was positively hilarious – you notice that the air around your new bud-pal-chum-friend-amigo was crackling with energy. You glance over, and you can see a glow, his eye blinking between blue and yellow intermittently. Blowing through the lid of the coffee cup, he then takes a sip, eyes closing entirely. When they re-open, he seems back to normal. Was that magic? He seems to notice you staring, and he offers a wry smile.

“*had to give it a little kick that the espresso couldn’t,” he explains. “*it’s a little odd, y’know? humans can consume monster food, but a lot of us can’t seem to return the favor. like me? love the stuff, but it just goes _right through me_.”

“So,” you offer after a moment, testing the water. “If it’s charged with magic, it’s okay? Does that work with everyone? I mean, if it’s as simple as doing that, then, couldn’t you go anywhere and eat?” Maybe it’s a little insensitive to ask, but Sans doesn’t seem to mind too much. He just takes another sip before answering you, being very careful not to get any of it on himself.

“*nah. just me that i know of. at least in the sense that i can charge up stuff that’s already been made. pap has to spice up the cooking process itself. my friends, too. i mean, unless i’m there to fix it up for them, but it takes a lot of energy to do stuff like this normally. but i’m feelin’ a little… energetic tonight. and besides, it’s just a coffee.” He reaches up, scratching at the back of his skull before pulling his hood over his head. “*it’s a lot different when you got at least six orders at a restaurant.”

“You should have mentioned something. We could have grabbed something at my place before leaving. Or gone a bit farther to –“

“*don’t worry about it, kid. but i appreciate you tryin’ to keep an _eye socket_ out for me.” He grins behind the mouth of his drink, and you can’t help but think that he’s a lot more pleasant than you had when you’d first run into him in the hallway. Or even the first time that you’d met him at all. That’d been an incredibly tense elevator ride.

The two of you are now at the gaping maw that is the entrance to the park. You feel yourself grinning widely at the sight, even if ordinarily it wouldn’t be considered normal to grin at an abandoned playground in the middle of the night. Tonight, though, the moon is full, and the sky is casting a silvery glow over the equipment, and there are more stars than you remember seeing in quite some time. Maybe it’s just the first time you’ve paid attention in a while. Your gaze settles on Orion, and you point out the constellation to your companion, who squints for a moment while trying to make out what it is you’re seeing.

As soon as he gets it, though, you jerk your head toward the park, motioning toward it with a hand and setting the pace at a light jog. Sans stiffens beside you, watching you run off, long tail and tiny wings bobbing amusingly behind you. You’re clearly far more enthused about the prospect of hanging out at a park than he is, trying not to spill your coffee out of the top of the cup on the way. You mostly manage it, and settle down onto one of the swings, fiddling with your onesie a little bit until you’re comfortable enough.

You start slowly swinging, just rocking back and forth rather than picking up momentum, and you tug on the chain of the swing next to you, as though trying to wordlessly tell him to join you. Shaking his head, he settles down on the bench closest to you, just watching. Taking a drink of your coffee, you set it down to the side where it won’t be knocked over and start swinging a little more in earnest this time, head tipped back to watch the stars shift and twinkle from your ever-changing perspective.

“Hey, Sans?” Your voice comes out a little louder than you intend it to, sound travelling through the empty space easily due to a lack of ambient noise. He hums out a response that you barely catch, but you’re positive it was an affirmative for you to complete whatever train of thought it was that you had.

“You’re a pretty cool guy,” you tell him, offering up a puff of warm breath that disperses into the air around you in a trail of smoky vapor. “Thanks for coming out with me.”

He gets up off of his spot, slowly walking over to the swings and setting his cup of coffee down opposite of yours, before having some trouble getting up into the swing. It got a little twisted and caught his finger, and though hissing, he manages to get into it with a huff. Watching you, he starts moving slowly forward and back like you’d been doing earlier, leaning over to grab his drink and nurse it while he moves. “*well, like i said. i had a little bit of extra energy, so why not.”

There’s a strange quality about the words, and he tips his head back to watch the stars, expression softening some. You knew some of the history of monsters through passing conversation and the news. You can’t imagine the novelty of the night sky as seen by someone who was still so new to the experience. You slow the momentum of your swing until you’re nearly in sync with Sans, the two of you just chilling and watching the stars.

“Are you alright?” Your tone is hesitant, like you don’t know what sort of boundary you might be crossing by asking that, but his reaction isn’t to lash out – it’s to simply sigh, a hand raising to pinch his nasal bone between a thumb and forefinger. You immediately regret asking, and open your mouth to apologize, but he cuts you off.

“*you ever just have one of those nights? yeah, well, it’s one of those.”

You have absolutely no idea what to say to this near-stranger to make him feel better, and there’s an almost uncomfortably pregnant pause before you blurt out, “I think you mean one of _nose_.”

His head snaps over to look at you, and you’re grimacing and covering your face with a hand, body turned away from him because what the absolute fuck was that? You just met someone, you’re disrespectful, and you’re not even all that funny. Or at least, you didn't think so. There’s a small noise, and then a soft choking sound, and then it tumbles into a fucking guffaw, and you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear it, twisting to happen a glance at the skeleton next to you who’s clearly fucking losing it over the worst joke anyone has ever made.

The tension you’d only vaguely noticed earlier has completely melted off of him as he sits vibrating and doubled over in the swing next to you. There’s a small thought surrounding how long he’d been carrying that weight around, and just how badly he’d needed to laugh. Actually laugh. Phalanges reach up to wipe at the tears forming in the corners of his sockets, and once you’ve gotten over yourself, your horror, and your confusion, you find that his laugh is rather infectious. And while you’re not laughing nearly as much or as hard as Sans is, you find that you’re still feeling a hell of a lot better than you were. It slowly dies down, though, and his expression has softened even further, grin wider as he looks up at the stars again.

“*i guess i really needed that. thanks.”

“You know,” you offer, a little awkwardly, reaching over to grab your coffee so you don’t have to look him in the face while talking to him. It takes you a little longer than it should have because of this. “You’re really expressive. I – I mean, I guess I wasn’t expecting it. Whenever I saw you, you were always smiling. I just figured that you were…”

“*stuck like this?” He finishes for you, and you sit up, nursing your drink and giving a shrug. He sounds a lot less awkward than you feel. He’s probably had this conversation before. “*nah. just because humans have strange anatomy, doesn’t mean that i do. unless you’re referring to how different me and and my brother are, in which case, don’t worry. i don’t have a _bone to pick_ with you.”

You smile into your cup, but then it sort of falls. “That sounded a lot less forced than it did earlier. I didn’t even really notice then. I guess you really did have a shitty night. I can relate – sometimes I have some god awful nights. I just hope this helped a little bit? I don’t know. To be honest, I didn’t really know what to make of you at first, but you’ve really grown on me. You’re a really cool dude, Sans.”

You glance over at him, and notice that he’s turned his head toward you, expression a little intense. It causes you to feel a little more uncomfortable than you already did. After a few moments of this, you go to open your mouth to apologize, but he shakes his head. “*thanks, kid. i –“ He pauses, as though struggling for words, his indecision oddly clear to you. 

During the pause he takes another sip of his drink, spilling some. He makes this semi-adorable not-quite curse, reaching up and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. You can’t help but chuckle at him, motioning at a spot he’d missed. He offers a embarrassed look, cheeks lightly dusted with blue. You assume you’re imagining things.

“*guess i’m a real _bonehead_ , huh?”

“Nah, you’re fine,” you reassure him, offering a friendly, if awkward, pat on the arm. “Happens to me all the time. Takes one to know one and all that jazz.”

“*what are you, ten?” The comment is made with good, _humerus_ intentions. Also, wow, you’re on a roll. You’ve made more jokes in the last hour and a bit than you have in the last year. Well. Definitely more puns than you have in the last year. You wonder where all this nonsense and tomfoolery is coming from. You wonder about a lot of things, but decide it’s best not to think about it. It’s probably Sans. He’s a walking pun magnet.

That's your story and you're sticking to it.

“Give or take a decade,” you offer, shrugging. "If nothing else, I’m definitely turning ten next year, I swear. But maybe you just bring out the worst in me. I don’t think I can remember the last time I’ve made someone laugh this much.”

Sans gives you an appreciative once-over, before managing a faux-cocky, “*who says it’s not the best in you, then? you can’t argue with results.” 

Oh. Haha. Cocky. “Don’t you get _coccyx_ with me, man.” That set him in another fit of mild hysterics, and you can’t help but grin widely. You really don’t know why you were so wary of this guy. Someone who sincerely laughs at bad jokes has an integrity that you can’t deny. Yeah. You decide that you definitely like this guy. He’ll make a pretty swell pal.

“I’ve decided that I like you. I mean, sure, there are some things that I don’t get about you, but in some ways I can see right through you.” Oh. That one was completely unintentional, but it was a nice throwback to his earlier comment. He snorts in a most unattractive way from his spot next to you, and that gets you laughing, yourself. “But really? I think you’d make a good friend.”

“*depends who’s askin’.”

“What if it’s me?”

“*then you and me? we’re gonna get along just fine, kid.”


	2. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans doesn't know your name. A battle of wits comes in the form of god-awful nicknames. You two are losers.
> 
> Edit: I'd finished the chapter, went to preview it, and the internet buggered up and I lost it. This is a rewrite, and I don't like it nearly as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 500 hits, 60 kudos, 9 bookmarks, 3 comments, and it's only been two days.
> 
> You guys are incredible.

“*y’know,” Sans offers, and you look over at him from where the two of you are laying on one of the playground platforms on your backs, “i don’t actually know your name. or maybe i learned it the first or second time we technically met and i just don’t remember. can’t just keep calling you dragon all the time.”

“You could call me Your Majesty if you really wanted to,” you offer, giving a shrug. “I had a lot of friends who gave me nicknames over the years – a lot of people, actually, if I’m being honest.”

Sans’ expression shifts from contemplative to a grin that nearly overtakes his entire face, and you feel as though you’ve opened up an entire can of worms by accident and the whole thing just spilled all over the inside of your theoretical fishing boat in this metaphorical scenario. It’s going to take you at least an hour to pick up all those worms and even longer to clean the boat. You have no idea what you did to deserve this.

“Sans –“ you start to say, but that’s it. It’s over. You’ve lost. There’s no going back now, he’s taken the torch and started at a full scale sprint to the finish line. It’s out of your hands now.

“*how about dumb-dumb? fart-knocker? dill-weed? puddin’ butt? dirty memer? entry level weeb?” Sans sits up, looking down at you and your scowl with a grin to match. He looks like he’s having entirely too much fun at your expense. But to be fair, he does start to apologize, “*nah, i can tell you don’t like those ones very much. how about the… archbishop of _banter_ bury? _pal_ ot of a _joke_ -plane? _chum_ tain of the u.s.s. _friendship_? secretary of _pun_ graculture?”

You laugh at the last few, because it seems like Sans has put a great deal more thought into them, even so much as bringing in heavy human references to things. You appreciate the effort, and soon you can’t even frown at him anymore. You cover your face in your hands, cheeks flushed with laughter and the slight nip of the chilly air. It’s been two weeks and a day since the last time you two had hung out together, and you’re back at the same park. This time you’re dressed a lot more reasonably, though, the hood of your jacket blocking out the chill from the equipment under you. You’re wearing pajama pants this time, though, to make up for it. There’s nothing wrong with having a theme.

You feel bony fingers gently pry your hands from your face, and you let them, Sans still a respectable distance from you as you two take in each other’s grins and slightly flushed faces. “*i knew you’d –“

You cut him off with a comment that has your face screwing up with more laughter. “Does this make you my _verte_ -bae? I could call you Tons of Fun – _skele_ -tons of fun!” You catch a glimpse of his expression, the way that his mouth twitches, and the way his expression shifts from awe, to sheer delight at the level of absurdity that you’re spouting at him. His enjoyment of your D-List humor has you laughing harder, tears stinging your vision so much that you need to close your eyes and tug your hands back from his to cover your face again. It only does so much to muffle your laughter.

“* _verte-bae_. oh my god, why didn’t i think of that?” His voice is a little broken from the sniggering he’s doing. You calm down and wipe your eyes clean of tears, smearing them over your face instead and sniffling. You weren’t upset at all, and your expression showed that clearly. Your face hurt from how widely you were grinning.

“Don’t worry,” you choke out, heaving in a breath to try and calm yourself. “You can’t win ‘em all, but at least you can say you’re……” He stares at you intensely, waiting for the punchline, and you deliver it like a kick to the gut, “ _Sansational_.”

“*did –“ He looks thrilled and baffled, and so unbelievably happy that you regret not making that joke the first time you’d hung out. It should be illegal to be as happy as your skelebro currently was. “*did you just make a joke out of me? was i seriously the punchline to something?”

“…Is… Is that genuinely the first time that anyone’s ever made that joke? You have to be kidding me. It’s so glaringly obvious. You need friends with better senses of humor.”

"*you're telling me."

You sit up and wipe at your face with your sleeve, feeling a little better after doing so. You shift so that you can get off of the top of the playground, stretching once you've gotten to your feet, fingertips reaching toward the sky. Your back gives a couple of sickening cracks, you let out a pleased groan. You have no idea how long you'd been laying there watching the sky together, if you're honest, and even less knowledge of how long the two of you had been outside. You passed the time by telling each other stories from your respective cultures, and you'd used your finger to trace out the few constellations you knew by heart for him. You start to bring your arms down, your fists only by your head and your arms still bent when his voice catches you off guard.

"*...does that hurt?" You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and his expression is a little unreadable, but seems to be shifting towards both uncomfortable and unsure, you think. "*i'm talking about the cracking." 

At first you go to open your mouth to respond in a smart-alecky way, but something stops you. You try to think about it from his perspective, and come to the conclusion that if you were made of entirely bone, then you would also be concerned if you heard someone make the pops and cracks that you just made in front of him. After all, a break, a bruise, or a crack would be all the more likely to happen, and spelled disaster. You assume it would be disastrous, anyway.

"Nah. It's... uncomfortable, but feels better afterward."

"*why do you do that?" He seems determined to know, so you decide to indulge him a little bit.

"I don't know. It just happens sometimes when I stretch. When anyone stretches. Especially if you're a touch out of alignment from laying on something hard for a while? I don't think it's the bones themselves, more like the fluid between them so they don't rub together or become stiff? I think that stuff gets air bubbles in it sometimes, and that's what pops. Don't quote me on that, though, I'm not a doctor or anything."

He seems to mull uncomfortably on that for a few moments, before, "*humans are weird."

"*you can say that again."

You sit on the lower level of the playground next to you instead of climbing back up to sit next to him again. You hadn't known each other that long, and it'd be weird just to go invade his personal space again if you didn't have to or need to. Your hands settle in your pockets and you just chill there with him for a bit, enjoying the silence. You wonder at him, mostly because you're kind of cold, and you're not sure if he can even feel it, if the fact that he enjoys wearing shorts in the winter is any indication. And slippers with nothing to cover his heels. Your hands shift uncomfortably inside of your pockets, opening and closing to try and get the blood to flow back into them, as they're a little stiff.

"Hey, what time is it? I'd check, but my hands are cold."

He fishes for his phone, tapping on the screen, and you glance at him when he offers a small exclamation of surprise, wondering what's up. "*hey, i hate to burst your bubble, but i think we ought to get out of here. it's already twenty to three."

"Really? That late? Damn, we met up at like eleven-thirty. I didn't think we were out for that long. No wonder I can't tell if I have a nose or not."

The two of you get up from your respective spots, and stretch again before you both reluctantly start leaving.

"*you know, you should have mentioned something if you were cold."

You give him a passing shrug. You didn't notice before, really, since the two of you were chilling and having fun together. Besides, even if you had been noticeably cold, you think you could have stuck it out for the sake of hanging out with him. You learned a lot of really neat stuff from him, after all, like more of the story of the monsters getting sealed away, things you hadn't learned out of a text book in passing. It had been so long that humans had treated the circumstances more like a fable than a real, actual piece of history. Denial is a remarkable thing.

It had been two weeks and a day since the last time you'd hung out, and you didn't know how long it was going to be until you would see him again. You debate asking him for his number instead of waiting for fate to thrust you two together again, but decide that it's really awkward if you were to ask. Besides, you'd only hung out with Sans twice, and that was probably way too soon for any phone numbers to get involved. Even if the two of you did get along fairly well. But, of course, your mouth decides that it doesn't need to have anything to do with your brain and asks anyway.

"Hey, Sans, I was wondering if I -" Welp, in for a penny, in for a pound, am I right? You decide to turn the question into a joke instead. You nudge him in the arm, putting on a falsely confident smile. "I was wondering if I could have your number. I can't find mine."

That prompts a deep, genuine chuckle from him, and he turns to you, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You can't help but feel accomplished.

"*well, alright, since you put it that way," he says, and you grab your phone out of your pocket, tapping in the numbers he gives you before shooting him a text. He seems suspicious of the way you're smiling at this point, and he has a very good reason to be.

_XXX-XXX-XXXX 2:56am_

_Hey, Sans. Just to let you know, I'm going to sign you up for every cold-calling list I can find._

There's a moment before his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, expression unreadable. But then it shifts to something that lets you know that oh, it's on like Donkey Kong.

_Sansational 2:56am_

_not if i do it to you first._

You read it, glancing over at him, and then the two of you are heading to your apartments fairly quickly, nearly fighting to get through the lobby door first when you arrive. You hadn't known he had a playfully competitive streak, and you couldn't say you minded too much. It was fun, the two of you were having fun.

Once you're all done with your bath, and you're much warmer than you had been when you'd gotten home, you get ready for bed, checking your phone's messages after you've crawled in and gotten comfortable. You notice that there's a message from your friend, and you decide to check out what it is before crashing. It seems odd that he's still awake. The message only came 15 minutes ago, and the message made you grin almost from ear to ear. What a fucking loser this guy was.

_Sansational 3:45am_

_your name is now verte-bae in my phone._

_verte-bae 4:01am_

_Bone nuit, mon ami._

_Sansational 4:02am_

_go to sleep._

It feels good to get a response, and you snort at the contents. You like to believe you'd made him smile. Lucky for you, he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this version of the chapter nearly as much as I liked the original. But Chrome decided to glitch, and I lost it. Almost lost it a second time, but thankfully when I went forward to the page, it was all still there. What a relief.


	3. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans shows up in your apartment one night, and it looks like he's having a very bad time. Looks like a nightmare - a really bad one, if you're being completely honest with yourself.
> 
> It takes all your effort, but you manage to help him come down from it, and you get a bedtime story out of the mix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to write a happy chapter involving Sunsets and chilling with both the brothers, but I can't write Papyrus for shit, apparently, or conversations between more than two people, so have the 4th chapter as the third.
> 
> I'm sorry for everything. This one's a real doozy.

It’s a cold day in late March when he appears inside of your apartment. It being two-thirty in the morning, you decided it was better if you made yourself a tea rather than anything else, if only so that you could wind down some in the next hour and a half before you climbed reluctantly away from your desk to crawl underneath the cool, heavy covers of your enormous bed. You’re just walking out of the kitchen, head down to blow a little of the steam away from your drink, when you feel it. The soft crackle of sound. The way that Sans’ magic feels in the air around you is sort of like lightning during a rain storm. The scent of charged ozone, and a heavy feeling that’s like you’re half-asleep and yet have way too much energy all at once.

If the magic doesn’t have you whipping your head up, the shaky, shallow breathing does, and when you do get a look at him – a proper look – you can feel your body freeze in terror, even if your heart breaks for him. Standing in the way of you and your office is a rather distraught looking Sans, but really, distraught is too shallow of a word to describe the plight of the man in front of you.

Sans is clutching at his skull, shoulders hunched, expression shifted to the most primal form of fear you’ve ever been privy to. His left eye is glowing, the light piercing even in the relatively bright light of your apartment. It’s flashing between gold and cerulean at a rate that seems to be congruent with the way he’s shaking. You slowly put your drink down on the nearest available surface, making sure to keep your hands where he can see them. If he can see them. You’re not so sure he’s aware of his environment at the moment, or even really of himself.

“Sans,” you start slowly, making sure to make no sudden movements. Is. Is this what one of his night terrors look like? Is this what he’s been dealing with? He looks like a victim of war, a survivor of horrors you can’t imagine, and you wouldn’t be surprised in the least if it turned out that he was someone with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The air in the room seems to take your breath away, but you continue to try and get his attention, speaking slowly and calmly, trying not to make him any more spooked or anxious. “Sans, are you alright?”

His gaze slowly trails off the floor in front of him, roving over you slowly before settling on your face. Good, you think, he’s noticed you. You continue to try and talk to him, and slowly he seems to come back from the precipice of tipping over into a major breakdown. He’s not okay, of course he’s not, and for a moment you’re angry at society for its portrayal of panic attacks. Coming down from a panic attack doesn’t mean you’re all of a sudden better, you don’t need water, you don’t need fluffy things and people to tell you it’ll all be alright. You know this from personal experience, and because Sans has come down enough to sob openly, which is a hell of a lot better than being trapped in his own mind like that.

You slowly work your way over to him, ask him if you can hold him, and when you get the go ahead you wrap your arms around him, cheek leaning against the top of his head. You’re jolted by the magic at first, and it leaves you breathless, feeling like an electric shock, but you fight through it, surrounding him in warmth and stability, before slowly rocking back and forth.

You do this until he sags slightly against you, completely drained of all of his energy. Slowly you move the two of you backward to the couch, sitting down with him and grabbing a blanket that’s folded up on one of the arms and spreading it out over your laps. It’s difficult to do this with one arm around him and him clinging to you like this, but you make due. His comfort is infinitely more important than yours.

“*i’m sorry,” he says, from where he’s buried in your clavicle, warm and safe. “*i-i didn’t know where else to go, it just sort of _happened_. i didn’t mean to bother you with my shit, i –“

This is the first time you’ve heard him swear in the three months or so that you’ve known him. You shake your head, holding him tighter, and the hands clutching the back of your shirt grip tighter. “It’s okay, really. I don’t mind. I’m your _friend_ , Sans. Helping is what friends _do._ I did tell you that you could come over anytime I was still up, didn’t I?”

“*w-well, yeah, but.”

“No buts about it. I can guess that it probably sucks to let someone see you like this. I’ve been in a similar place. It sort of eats your pride up, and makes you feel shitty, but I’m. I’m glad you came here. I’m glad I could try and help you feel better.”

He sniffles, and you wonder if he’s going to cry again. He doesn’t, though, but you rub his back anyway, feeling the backs of his ribs and the prominent bumps of his vertebrae through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. It seems to calm him some, and soon the shaky breathing seems to peter out to something a lot more acceptable.

“We can talk about it in a bit, if you want, but maybe we should get you some tea, and maybe a hot bath if you feel comfortable chilling here for a while longer.”

“*okay,” he offers after a long pause, detangling from you and leaning back so he can rub at his eyes with a sleeve. He looks a little lost, as though he doesn’t exactly know how to respond to you or what you’re offering to him, but that’s fine. He’s had a long, emotionally charged day.

“Alright, I’m going to get the water running and turn on the kettle and then come back. The kettle shouldn’t take too long. It was boiled right before you got here.” You check the clock, and it’s been an hour since then, and despite how drained you felt from how long that hour seemed, you were filled with determination.  He glances at you, still looking a little lost, but when you smile at him he smiles slightly back and you feel warmth spread through you.

You still move slowly and deliberately, humming a tune so he could track your movement throughout the apartment as you catered to him, to let him know he wasn’t alone. You come back after the water has been started on both ends, and you stand in front of the couch offering him a hand. He flushes in embarrassment, reluctantly taking your hand for you to help him up. It’s almost as though his wounded pride had basically said “fuck it, we cried in front of this human already, what’s a hand at this point?”

You don’t let go of his hand as you guide him to the bathroom, requesting that he check the temperature himself to see if it’s comfortable.

“*it’s fine, _____,” he murmurs, and it’s one of the first times he’s ever said your name out loud. He sits on the toilet, and you give him free reign over the bubble bath or anything else he wants to use that you have in there. “*you’re too much. thanks for… everything. i’ve been a huge freaking _bonehead_ , intruding on you and taking up your time, and you’re still so nice to me and everything. i just – thanks, okay?”

He looks so sincere that you can’t do your usual thing and deflect the compliment, or change the subject, or put yourself down while taking it. You look him in the eye and give him a warm smile, crouching in front of him and taking his hands in yours and giving them a squeeze. “Thanks, man. I don’t know what to say to you except, “anything you need”, so I guess that’s it. Anything you need, and I’ll be there for you.”

The way he smiles has your heart giving a relieved flip in your chest cavity, and your skelebro leans forward to bump his forehead gently against yours, being careful not to be too rough with it. “*thanks. but, uh… what am i going to wear _after_ my bath? to be frank, i’m pretty disgusting.”

“I’ll grab you something. We should be about the same size, pants-wise. And I can see you being about to protest, but don’t you dare. It’s really not a problem. Besides, you live down the hall for fuck’s sake, it’s not like you’re taking a midnight plane ride to Russia with them.”

He snorts slightly, covering his mouth at the sound, but you grin at him, taking your other hand away as well. “*alright, alright, you got me. but honestly, there’s probably easier ways to get me into your pants.”

You stare at him for a second, and burst into soft laughter, which Sans joins you in. It’s not nearly as energetic of a laugh as he normally gives to bad jokes around you, but you’re relieved he’s well enough to make a proper one.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind in the future,” you tease, pink cheeked and grinning. “It’ll be nice to know of an easier way to _bone_ you.”

He stares at you for a second, lightly flushed himself, and offers a much more genuine laugh this time. You can’t help it when you reach out to wrap your arms around him in a hug, giving him a squeeze that you hoped conveyed your relief and your joy and your friendship toward him. After a moment of inaction on his part, he returns it, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. It’s a short hug, and you give him a friendly pat on the arm before getting up, mentioning that you’re going to give him some privacy, and you’ll bring him his tea and some fresh clothing when it’s done brewing.

He thanks you, and you leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind you for now. The door tended to not want to stay open ‘just a crack’ ever, and your ease of access is no excuse for potentially making your guest uncomfortable and invading his privacy. Heading to the kitchen, you rest your forearms on the counter, hunched over them so much your forehead is almost touching them. You feel exhausted, and helping someone else through this sort of thing isn’t easy.

The kettle turns off, and you set upon making some tea for the both of you once you grab yours from where you’d placed it earlier and rinse out the mug. Sans gets one of your favorite mugs – one that’s got that dumb picture of a cat hanging from a wire that says “Hang in there!” that you use on days when you need to smile. Belatedly you feel guilty because won’t he have to use his magic to drink it? And he’s so tired, too. You chew on your lower lip in thought, but he… hadn’t said anything about it, and even if he doesn’t drink it, it’s the thought that counts, right? As much as you try to rationalize it, though, there’s still a sinking feeling of guilt that accompanies the idea.

Once the tea is brewed with a calming chamomile tea bag, milk, and honey (you personally can’t stand the stuff, and opted for an Earl Grey, but your best friend loves chamomile, so you keep it there for them), you take Sans’ mug into the bedroom where you find something loose and comfortable that’ll fit him and he can wear for the night. You drape both articles over your arm and grab the mug once more, stopping in the hall to grab a fresh towel as well, trying to be careful not to spill even a single drop of tea.

The water has stopped running in the bathroom, and you hesitate before knocking on the door. “Hey, Sans? Can I open it?”

You hear a breath echo in the bathroom, followed by a hum of agreement, and you open it. The curtain is drawn almost all the way, but left open enough for him to glance at you. He raises a hand to take the tea from you, and before you can ask about it, or apologize, there’s the slight crackle of magic and he’s blowing the steam away from it, the vapor drifting up to mingle with that of the bath.

“I brought you some clothes, and, uh, a towel, and um. I’ll leave you alone so you can relax a little bit. I’ll be out there if you need me,” you manage, and that was the least smooth you could have been, your eyes respectfully lowered as your friend was in the bath and you had no reason to look outside of trying to safely hand him the drink.

“*would it make you uncomfortable if i asked you to stay?” He looks sheepish, his hand shifting through the water a lot more smoothly than yours would. You can’t see it, but you can see the way his humerus shifts back, and the slight swishing of the water. You hear him tap on the surface and realize it’s a legitimate question.

“I’ll get my tea,” you murmur, shifting the clothes to the counter instead of on the folded toilet seat, and he seems relieved when you give him a glance before retreating. You’re sure to be quick, and settle down on the seat when you get back, and notice he’s shifted the curtain back a little more so that you two can better converse. It’s still remarkably modest, and even coming through the door, you can’t see more than the middle of his sternum.

“*thanks again,” he says, as soon as you sit down and blow across the top of your mug. “*and i – the mug is nice, too.”

“It’s not a problem. Really. You don’t have to keep thanking me. I’m sure most would have done the same. I – I keep saying it whenever we hang out, but you’re genuinely a really cool dude."

“*hey, i’m not –“

You shake your head. “You are. You’re a good brother, and a good friend, and when I pass by your group when you’re with them, I can tell that you’re well-liked and gosh, it seems like the little one – Frisk, you said their name was, once? – even looks up to you. You’re funny, and you’re nice, and you’re genuine, and I’m really, really glad that I decided not to be a pissy baby the first time we went out for a walk together.”

You say this all in a rush, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the bathroom and how stupid you felt saying all of that out loud. You really did appreciate him as a person, and right now, you really think that he needed to hear it. The full, naked (no pun intended) truth. You watch as he reaches up to wipe at an eye socket pre-emptively, cheeks flushed like yours are. You watch as a smile creeps over his face, and feel that tugging warmth fill you again.

“*god, kid, you are way too much. i don’t even know if I deserve you as a friend.”

You smile and sip your tea, before realizing you’re essentially memeing at him. You snort softly at the realization and cup your tea in your hands as you rest the mug in your lap. “Believe me, I feel the same way, man. I look forward to the texts in the morning, the jokes, the dumb walks in the park, or watching movies. Sometimes I have this irrational worry I won’t get to do those things anymore. It sure as hell breaks up the monotony of wake up, run errands, go to school, come home, do homework, sleep, rinse, and repeat, lemme tell you.”

“*well, hey, at least you’re in the same boat as me. i look forward to that stuff, too. and,” he pauses to take a deep drink from his mug, and when he lowers it, he rests his arm on the side of the tub, the mug hanging over the water, his grip firm to ensure it doesn’t slip. “*and it’s nice when we hang out with pap, too. he seems to really like you, and you’re so nice to him. the next time we have to watch frisk you should come down the hall and chill with us. i’m sure the two of you would get along great.”

“I’d really like that, man. Thanks. As long as their mom’s into the idea, I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity. Your apartment is so lively with the kid around.” You pause, then tip your head to the side slightly. “How’s the water?”

He runs his free hand through the water absently, humming softly as he susses out the temperature. You like doing that, too, because sometimes it’s hard to tell how cool the water’s gotten until you shift a little bit. “*it’s a little on the warmer side, still, but it’s done its job. i feel a lot better than i did when I got in.” He downs the rest of the tea and hands you his mug.

You take it when you get up, and frown at his clothes where they sit on the floor. You were going to take them earlier, but you’d gotten preoccupied. “Here, I’ll take these and throw them in the wash for you.”

“*nah, don’t worry about it. i’ll do that when i get back home,” he says, firmly dismissing the idea of more help. You sigh dramatically without actually meaning it, leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind you when you exit. Heading to the kitchen, you toss the teabags and wash the cups, drying them with a towel and putting them away. Normally you’re kind of a procrastinator, but you decide you have time, and you have a guest to impress anyway 

You’re startled when you turn around and he’s already there, dressed in your clothing, by the time you finish and turn to exit the kitchen. He’s leaning against the door frame, towel around his shoulders and his clothes hanging over his arm. He looks significantly better than he did when he showed up earlier, and as you didn’t hear the sound of the door opening or his bare feet across the hardwood, you surmised his appearance had something to do with another ‘shortcut’.

“*since you’ve done so many things for me tonight, can i do something for you?” The question is sincere, and you can’t help but wonder what he’s got in mind, so you hum out an agreement and you’re surprised when he seems to nudge you out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom. “*alright, get ready for bed.”

“Get ready for – What?”

“*you look exhausted, _____,” he says, and when you look in the mirror, you can see why he’d say something like that. “*i can imagine dealing with me when i’m like that is draining as hell. so i’m gonna make sure you’re good to go before i’m out of here. i’ll take another shortcut so you don’t have to worry about locking the door.”

You don’t know what to say, your cheeks burning, so you just do as your told and nudge him out of the bathroom so that you can brush your teeth and do your business in relative peace. Once your face is washed and your teeth brushed, and your bladder is relieved, you exit the bathroom and tell him to just give you a sec to put on clothing. Your t-shirt is a light color, and it looks like you spilled blue Kool-Aid on the front of it. You manage a derisive smile at the realization.

You get dressed in a pair of pajamas, opening the door for him to come in before tossing your worn clothes into the hamper next to the door. He comes in and lets you get into bed before loosely tucking you in and taking a seat. You wonder what he’s doing before he starts telling you the story of how he met Frisk, and the liberation of the underground. It’s a grueling story, very fascinating, but whenever you try to ask a question, he gives you a look that makes you pipe down. Right, you’re supposed to be going to sleep.

Near the end, you’ve already drifted off, and Sans feels a great deal better knowing that you’re going to get some rest after recent events. Leaning down is almost a habit, and he presses his teeth to your forehead like he’d do for Papyrus every night once his brother had drifted off to sleep.

 When you wake up, you feel refreshed, and there’s another good morning text from Sans, and an additional one from Papyrus, which featured a picture of Sans waiting for the coffee pot to brew in the clothing you’d let him borrow.

You snort at the sight.

Today was going to be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans can't actually tell the temperature of the water. He uses other clues to figure it out, and just doesn't bother telling you anything about it yet. Tea's hot? Blow on it until it's not. No lungs? Fake breathing, too. Live in a web of lies.


	4. Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find that you like magic, and you also like your soul being touched. Not in a weird way, though. It just feels like an old, familiar friend.
> 
> In which Sans takes you on a shortcut to the top of Mt. Ebott to watch the sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for this chapter. It's okay until about 3/4 of the way through, and then it's a mess of "how do I end this, I don't know" and "I really need to go to bed, I have to get up in 3 hours."

It’s the April long weekend already, and the weather has improved significantly. The afternoon was spent with the brothers and several of their friends, and while fun, the whole experience was a blur of fun and energy, so being a bit of an introvert, despite how happy you were, it was still exhausting. There was still some vestiges of sunlight left, so Sans had proposed some sort of an outing. It was just the two of you left, anyway. Everyone else had somewhere to be or something else to do, and the both of you needed to recharge.

You hadn’t expected something of this caliber, however.

Taking your hand, Sans led you toward his bedroom and you felt the crackle of energy indicating that he was about to use magic again. You felt it shoot up through your arm and into your body where your hands were connected, leaving you breathless and a little weak in the knees. You happen a glance around you, and you were only in a place you’d seen once prior – the in-between, you called it, though he preferred the term “shortcut”. The world was bathed in a hazy blue light, and behind you you could see where the two of you had come from.

Sagging against him, he grips you a little tighter, taking you toward somewhere you’d only seen in photographs, or painted with his words. Glancing up, you notice he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and you wonder why he’s going through so much effort to take you there. When you arrive, you feel the magic leave your body, and you take in a deep gasp of breath, your legs starting to collapse under your weight until he catches you.

_Mount Ebott._

It’s absolutely stunning, you think, as he lowers you to the ground and you shakily let him, finding a seat. You’re a little dizzy, and you’re very high up, and you can see for miles and miles. You’re on the precipice of the mountain, watching the Sunset, and entirely too far from home. Sans fidgets next to you, and you know he’s watching you, waiting for you to say something, or maybe he’s waiting for the opportunity to say something himself.

You look over at him, expression still in that sense of dazed awe that you’d been experiencing since you got here. Though the magic has left your body, you can still feel everything. It’s so much brighter, and the breeze on your skin and the sunlight…

“ _It’s beautiful_ ,” you tell him, voice lowered to an almost reverent whisper. You’re giddy, you think, the influx of magic doing wild things to you. You take his face in your hand and lean over to bump your forehead against his, perhaps with a little bit more force than intended, but you merely giggle – fucking _giggle_. “Thank you so much.”

Sans himself seems incredibly amused by your behavior, and pulls back so that he can press a bony wrist against your forehead. “*are you alright?” he questions, and you know that’s a stupid question, because he can’t really feel differentiations in temperature.

“Magic is _amazing_ ,” you tell him, your hands sliding down his cheeks before flopping down in your lap. “You’re amazing.”

Sans snorts slightly, giving you a mischievous look that involves a brow bone raising as he takes your dominant hand from where it had fallen. “*what, this?” he says, before you feel the electric jolt and your breath releases itself shakily. He watches your eyes unfocus somewhat, and he makes sure to discretely check your vitals to ensure that the whole experience isn’t damaging your Soul.

“Jesus Christ,” you manage to curse after a moment of trying to collect yourself, shooting him a dirty look you don’t mean for the life of you. “That’s just unfair.”

“*m’sorry, kid, it’s just that the only human I’ve ever used my magic on has been frisk, and they don’t react nearly as much as you do. i can’t help it. but at least it’s not hurting you.” He pauses here, fidgeting again. “*could i do a more thorough check?”

You tip your head slightly, not a hundred percent understanding what he means by that, but vaguely you get the sense that he wants to inspect your Soul. You can’t fault him for wanting to look out for you, and it’s not that big of a deal to you. Souls weren’t anything new to society, even if they’d got pushed to the back burner since the war. They’d recently gotten much more prevalent since the return of monsters, though, and for good reason.

“Yeah, sure, man. I don’t see a problem with that.” You watch the expression he gives you – it’s a little hesitant, and you give him a reassuring, albeit playful, smile. “Come on, man. It’s cool, I trust you. You’re not gonna break it or anything.”

“*right, yeah. it’s just that the last time i saw one in person was… a while back. just under where we’re sitting, more or less.”

“Just before Frisk broke the barrier, right?”

“*yeah.” He takes a breath, then lifts a hand and makes a beckoning motion. You feel your chest tug, and you chew on your bottom lip. It’s similar to when your heart does a flip when you ride a roller coaster, or you’re about to do something really brave, or really stupid. You distinctly remember a college presentation that’d felt quite similar. The tugging continues when he beckons again, and you tell yourself to relax as though it might help. It does, and –

Oh. It’s incredible.

A little absurd, but still incredible.

Floating just above your friend’s bony hand is a cartoon heart. You’d seen pictures, read stories, but seeing one in person was absolutely remarkable. Your own, no less. It was a shade of orange that matched the slowly setting sun, and glowing in a warm way that made Sans’ sockets light up, and bathed him in a peculiar light. He was almost gold.

You watched as he practically held his breath while he ran a few fingers lightly down the side, and you swear you felt a shiver go through your entire being at the sensation. This was your life force, the core of your being, and he was being so, so gentle with it. Watching your reactions carefully, he then sent a small bit of magic into it, watching as you perked up, back ramrod straight, and mouth parted slightly.

You came down from the near high it gave you quite quickly, shuddering and shaking your head to try and clear it of cobwebs.

“*n-nothing happened to it, so, it’s clearly not dangerous in this context. your HP is still the same, and your – ah. you don’t have any EXP or LV.” He’s talking a little quickly, seemingly nervous and relieved all at the same time. He hadn’t doubted you, but it was still nice to have actual confirmation. You, still a touch dazed from the experience, hum in response to his words. “*looks like only things with ill intent can harm a soul.”

He tries to hand it back to you, and you shake your head slightly. “You can keep looking, if you want. I – I kind of like it out here, it’s nice to look at.”

You shift to sit next to him instead of across from him, able to actually watch the sunset now that the main body of the sun has drifted below the horizon. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you watch him cup your Soul in his hands, unable to help himself when he runs his thumb gently over the side of it. You shiver once more, and he stops for a moment to gauge whether it’s good or bad, and when you hum, he does it once more.

It’s not a sexual kind of an experience, but it’s the only thing you can really think to compare it to because it’s so gentle, and so, so intimate. Really takes the phrase “baring your soul” to a whole different level.

Reaching over, you brush your own fingers over it, finding it warm like sunshine and as comforting as reading a well-loved book with dog-eared pages, or the sight of an old friend. You watch as he hesitates before bringing a hand up to his own chest. You’re wondering what he’s doing, when there’s a brilliant cerulean light, and he holds his own Soul in his other hand.

Sitting back up properly, you part your lips in wonder at this new addition to your little party, marveling at the sight. It’s a brilliant shade of blue that you think matches him perfectly, and you can’t believe it when you find him placing it in your hands. His is much less warm – almost cool to the touch, and it’s got a few surface cracks in it.

_SANS_  
_ATK 1_  
_DEF 1_  
_HP 1/1_

You don’t see these things, but you find that you know them when you look closer. You run a slow, shaky thumb over the side of it, treating his soul like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever had the privilege to hold. Sans watches you do this, his thumb tracing similar patterns against your own Soul, but he stutters in his movements when you bring his up to your lips to press the gentlest of kisses against it.

He makes a small, strangled sound next to you that you almost don’t hear, but you look over at him, flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, man, I just – I – Um.” You try to articulate yourself properly, but you feel as though it’s digging you into an even bigger hole. “I just… It looks so… sad.” You trail off there, looking back down at his battered soul. You don’t mean it looks pathetic sad, or even sad-sad. It’s more that it makes you upset looking at it, because you can’t imagine the things he’s gone through.

“*i, uh.” He looks up at the sky, and then back down at your Soul, fingers curling around it a little more in an almost protective fashion. He gives a derisive snort that tugs at your heartstrings. “*you wouldn’t even believe me if i told you.”

“Try me.”

You look up at him, and he looks back at you, pulling one hand away to rub at his face and give a sigh before cupping your Soul in both hands once more. As a precaution he nudges it back into your body, and you give a little shiver, almost feeling a little lonelier. It’d been nice to have it be held by someone you cared for and respected. You hesitate to give his back, bringing it up to your chest in semblance of a hug before returning it to him. It seemed like things were about to Get Serious.

“*so, you know now about how we left the underground.”

“You’ve told me the story a few different times, yeah. Frisk opened the barrier.”

“*it… wasn’t always like that.” He looks stressed, and you reach over to take your friend’s hand in yours, lacing your fingers together and giving it a comforting squeeze. He looks down at them both, expression softening for a moment, before he looks back out at the darkening sky. “*that was one of many attempts.”

“What… does that mean?” You say this carefully, not knowing where he’s going with this.

“*it was like…. i don’t know. a video game, i guess. with the ability to reset your progress and start over if you got bored. i know this sounds crazy, but,” and here he gestures with his free hand, trying to find the words he needs, “i’d wake up, countless times, on the same day, do the same thing over and over. sometimes it was good. sometimes it wasn’t.”

You decide not to interrupt him or try and get him to articulate better. He’d open up to you in time, and right now you needed to try and wrap your head around the meaning of what he was saying. Like a video game? Having to re-live the same space of time over and over like it was Groundhog Day? You couldn’t imagine. It’s no wonder his Soul is so cracked and scarred.

“i,” he says, and he clearly has to take a moment to compose himself, his eyes closing. “i have nightmares of frisk exiting the ruins covered in dust. of my – of _pap_ , and how he – …there was nothing left but his scarf.”

You feel your heart break for him. God, you couldn’t imagine. His brother, and such a precious fucking cinnamon roll, to boot. Your stomach squirms, and you turn your face into his shoulder, feeling his hand come up into your hair to give you the best hug he could in the position you were both in.

“*don’t hold that against frisk, though, it’s not their fault. it was someone else’s. someone that we don’t have to deal with anymore.”

“Does,” you start, finally having the courage to speak, “does anyone else remember?”

His grip on your shoulder tightens, and you regret asking, but he still answers the question with a surprising amount of control in his voice, considering. You don’t think you could do the same in his position. You have to admire the strength of his character, and you cling to him a little tighter.

“*i’m the only one. frisk only remembers bits and pieces of things, but nothing significant outside of this. and honestly i’m waiting for it to all reset again, but…”

You shift in your position to try and look up at him. The idea of it resetting again makes you incredibly uncomfortable. What would happen to you? To your friendship with him? To everyone that you’d met and everything you’d done? The idea terrifies you a little bit, imagining losing five whole months of your life like it never happened.

“B-But?”

“*we’ve never gotten this far before. and i’ve never met you before. this timeline is an… anomaly. i don’t ever know what to expect from it.”

Oh.

“Oh.” You pull away from him, looking about as lost as you feel. “I don’t – I don’t want it to reset again. I don’t wanna –“

It’s difficult to articulate, so you do the next best thing and cup his face in your hands once more, leaning your forehead against his and hoping he can understand what you’re trying to tell him. His cheekbones get a soft dusting of blue, and he gives you a small, wry smile.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you eventually say, voice quiet.

“*i can’t promise you anything. i’m not a guy that tends to make promises.”

“Just pretend, then.”

He looks at you, at your pleading gaze, and your desperation not to be forgotten or left behind, and how much you want to keep being there with him to do dumb things like walk in the park and sit on a mountain and watch the sunset. The white lights in his eyes dash to the side and then down, and his phalanges pick at the dirt.

“*okay,” he says, breathing out the word like a sigh before closing his eyes. “*i promise i won’t leave you.”

His eyes snap open again when you shift to press a kiss to his forehead, grateful that he’d at least pretended to do something about a situation that may or may not happen regardless of anything either of you could do about it. Pulling back, you give him a tired smile, and feeling bad, he jolts some magic through you again, which causes your eyelids to flutter, and your expression to shift into something a lot less melancholy.

Pulling your hand away from his, you give Sans a playful shove. “Real mature.”

Standing, Sans brushes off the back of his shorts, and offers you a hand up, you take it, and he pulls you to his feet with a remarkable amount of hidden strength. You hadn’t known he’d had it in him, really. He didn’t exactly look like he had much meat on his bones to be honest. You smile stupidly at the joke you made in your head, and he returns it in a way that suggests he knows what you’re thinking.

Without letting go of your hand, he starts walking, and you turn to watch the view as it fades out of existence. You’re back to the in-between with its blue haze and lights that look like stars. They’re all doors, though, every single one of them, and it fills you with awe to see them all lit up like that, waiting to be opened. Again, though, your energy is sapped, and your knees are weak, and you sag against Sans once you’ve emerged from the shortcut in your living room. Your skin has pleasant little twinges of something that feels like a small electric tingle all over in random places intermittently, and you think the smile on your face is probably the stupidest expression you’ve ever made in your life.

Sans’ arm hooks around your waist and he keeps you standing relatively upright as he directs you to the couch, sitting you down on it. You tug him with you, giving him a cheeky grin as he ends up half on the couch and half in your lap. To your credit, though, he doesn’t look upset by this, merely amused and a little surprised.

“*you know, when i said i wouldn’t leave you, i wasn’t expecting the ol’ ball and chain,” he jokes, and you give a chuckle in response. “*throw me a _bone_ here.”

“You know you can leave if you want to. You’re not a _prisoner_. But, hey, I could always grab you a ring and make it official if you really feel that way.” You smile when he does that stupid little snort he does when he laughs at something stupid that he knows he shouldn’t find funny. He checks the clock, and then shifts so that he’s sitting next to you, deciding he has some time to kill before Papyrus comes back.

“*so, remind me again how my magic makes you feel? because if i didn’t know better…” You try to tell him not to do it again, but he does, and you shiver once more, a soft noise leaving you. Like the soul touching, it’s still not overtly sexual, but it’s bizarre and wonderful and you can’t believe he’s laughing at you right now.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Must be that thick skull of yours.”

“*tell me something i don’t know.”


	5. Show and Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Reader wants to know what's up with Sans' mouth" was essentially the entire premise of this chapter, but it got away from me.
> 
> "Couple'a adorable nerds" is what it ended up becoming.

You’re sitting on the couch with Sans’ head in your lap, the two of you watching a movie. It was probably a fit of laziness on his part that caused him to take up most of the space on your couch, his body curled up slightly and an arm draped over the side of the couch, phalanges brushing against the rug that’s set up in front of the couch. Absently, your fingers are running over the top of his skull, and your arm is folded and resting on his upper arm. You can feel his chest rising and falling with his breathing, though your attention is mostly on the movie you were watching.

The Nightmare Before Christmas seemed to be appropriate for the occasion, as it matched your company and your current attire. You’d worn it solely to see the expression on Sans’ face, honestly, and when he first laid eyes on your onesie, he couldn’t help the grin that came over his face. It was a black thing, a little big on you for the freedom and comfort, featuring an anatomically correct skeleton on the front. You could zip it all the way up over your face, but you just wore the hood without it zipped. The main thing was that you’d added a cartoon heart on the front in the same color as your soul.

You weren’t lying, you were waiting for the perfect opportunity to show it off to him.

It was worth it.

The movie ends, and you find yourself glancing down at your friend with a soft hum of amusement. It was so easy to be close to him, and despite how long you’ve known him you were always finding something else interesting about him. Like the fact that he breathed, or he derived the same comfort from having his “scalp” touched as you did. Actually… Did. Is he falling asleep?

You poke his cheek, watching as they puff up in indignation. That was new. You pinch his cheek, and smile as he grumbles, reaching up to swat your hand away.

“*wuzzat for?” He questions, voice a lazy drawl.

“You were falling asleep in my lap,” you announce, and he groans, rolling onto his back and yawning. His mouth opens widely, and you. Wow, okay. You got a pretty good view into his mouth there. Was. Was that a – “Is that a tongue?”

Sans pauses mid-stretch, mouth hanging open for another moment while he gives you a look. “*are you seriously questioning the fact that i have a tongue right now?”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve ever really seen into your mouth,” you splutter, embarrassed. The only response you get is him sticking his tongue out, and you’re a touch baffled when the blue, opalescent (probably magical) muscle is phasing through his bottom teeth slightly. Okay, well, it isn’t all that surprising. Dude has a pretty cute overbite.

You give it a hesitant, but none the less critical glance, before reaching over and pinching it between your fingers. He crosses his eyes to watch, and wiggles it between your fingers.

“*what are you doing?” he questions, and you’re amazed by how normal his voice sounds even when you’ve got a hold of his tongue. It’s… weird. It feels like licking the end of a battery, and it’s almost smooth and slippery, you note as you you lift it up so you can check the underside.

“It’s weird,” you tell him simply, letting it go. He draws it back into his mouth, rubbing it against the roof to try and dispel the strange feeling of having it held like that.

“*like yours is any less weird,” he points out, reaching up to take your face in his hand and squish it, forcing your mouth into a weird fishy shape. You tap your lips together like a fish would, and he gives a soft chuckle at the sight. “*you got to see mine, lemme see yours.”

You stick out your tongue at him, and he grips it between his thumb and index fingers, and from his expression you can surmise that he’s both incredibly interested and would probably be wrinkling his nose at you if he were capable of such a feat. “*and you say mine is weird. yours is all pink and kind of wet. and squishy but not.”

Sans lets go of your tongue and you open your mouth to say something, but he hooks a finger onto the inside of your cheek, much like you’d do to check for dental problems in animals. You watch as he inspects the inside of your mouth with a strange sort of fascination and find yourself sighing.

“Do you mind?”

“*not really,” comes the response, Sans grinning at the whole situation. He coaxes you to open your mouth properly, and he leans up to inspect it. “*s’wet,” he concludes, running his thumb over your bottom right teeth.

You give him a look that’s the very epitome of ‘ _no, **really**?’_ that causes his smile to grow even further. To retaliate, you grab his face, thumb and middle finger pressing against the middle of his jaw so that you can coax his own mouth open. He fights you for a moment on principle, but then opens his mouth so you can give it a similar inspection.

The whole situation is absurd, you think, the two of you barely a foot apart as you inspect each other’s mouths like they’re the strangest things you’ve ever seen. He presses two fingers against your tongue like a depressor, and instead of letting him get away with it, you playfully close your teeth and lips over them.

His eyes narrow, and it’s so hard to avoid grinning when you run your tongue over them. When you push your tongue between them, he parts his fingers, cheeks flushed. That playfully competitive streak comes back, though, and he copies your own motions, running his own tongue against the finger you’ve got hooked in his cheek. You almost jerk your fingers back at the sensation reflexively in surprise. It still feels slightly electric.

“Y’er sho grosh,” you tell him, teeth still holding his fingers while your lips part to speak.

“*so are you,” he says, his voice able to articulate a million times better than yours right now.

You two stare each other down for several moments before you reluctantly let go of his fingers, your finger leaving his cheek. Reluctantly because it means you caved first. Sans grins at you, pulling his fingers away, and you wipe yours on his shirt in retaliation. He simply reaches up and wipes his own on your cheek.

You watch his face the whole time, and then the two of you burst out into laughter at the situation and its sheer absurdity.

“Since we’re on the topic,” you gush, words coming quick and a little breathless, “can I see more?”

He hesitates, not expecting that, and looks a tad bit baffled by the question as well. “*you’ve already seen my soul and the inside of my mouth. what else is there to see? i’m not all _that_ interesting, am i?” The last question is a little unsure, as though he can’t imagine being super interesting to someone, and as funny as that is to you, it’s also a little bit sad.

“Well, uh. Is there anything more you wanna learn about me while we’re here? We can swap weird interspecies biology information.” You give a shrug, feeling more embarrassed than you had initially. He seems to consider the offer, brows knitting as he thinks about it.

“*alright, i’ll bite. i have to admit that i’m fairly interested in some of your weird human shenanigans. like…” He takes a moment here to consider you, racking up a few spots in his mind that he finds particularly interesting. “*everything, really. you’re so… squishy.”

You know it’s not a comment about your weight, so you don’t take it personally. Instead, you say with surprising confidence, “I want to see you with your shirt off.”

“*honestly that could have been a lot weirder, and i’m glad it wasn’t.” He sits up, nonchalantly grabbing the bottom of his shirt before starting to tug it upwards but then pauses. “*but only if i can see you without yours.”

You hesitate, but nod. It’s fine, the whole experience wasn’t sexual in any sense, and if you’re being completely honest with yourself Sans is practically your best friend at this point. You certainly see him the most. As he tugs his shirt up, you tug the zipper of your onesie down before sliding it off of your shoulders. You’re thankful that the ambient temperature is on the warmer side, but the sudden shift in temperature still has goosebumps going up your arms.

For a moment, you two just stare at each other in vague interest. The anatomy was so similar, and yet not in the slightest the same. He reaches over to poke your stomach, and you give a grin, and everything is infinitely less weird.

He splays his fingers over your stomach, seemingly fascinated by the skin of your belly. “*you’re so soft,” he hums out.

While he’s doing that, you watch his expression for a moment before sliding a hand over his forearm, trying to remember the names of the bones there. Ulna and radius, you think, but you can’t remember which one is which. He shifts his hand over your side and then up slightly, fingers digging in just a bit to feel the curves of your ribs.

“So,” you start, tone surprisingly conversational considering how marvel the experience was. Your hand shifts up to his humerus (haha) and then feels where the ball meets socket and makes up his shoulder. “You can’t feel temperature really, but you can feel this?”

“*mhmm. and yeah. i can only feel like. extreme temperatures, i think. snowdin was always a little chilly, but it was probably more or less like a cool breeze to you? i’m just guessing here based on general reactions to temperature.”

“That’s really cool.”

He shrugs, and his hands shift a little further up your sides, avoiding your chest completely. He’s following the opposite route that you are, starting on your sides and working his way up to your clavicle. You can tell he’s interested in the way you fit together underneath skin, muscle, and tendon.

His bones don’t feel like normal bones. They’ve got a slightly rougher texture from general weathering, and he has a few scars. You find one of these on his clavicle when you shift your hand over, running your thumb over the hairline crack that seems like it’s healed fully under the surface, but it still has a feeling to it.

“*that’s from when i was younger, horsing around with papyrus,” he says, and he seems to regard the memory with a great deal of fondness. As your fingers brush over the top of his sternum, he lets out a soft sigh of a breath, and you smile fondly.

His probing has him running his fingers over your clavicle in a similar way, and the dip of your throat, and he follows the lines up to your shoulders and down. He finds a few scars of your own, and you relay a couple of stories to him about them.

You don’t know when the two of you started speaking softly, but you did, and the whole experience was almost reverent, and like if you spoke any louder it might get weird. For now, though, it was oddly relaxing, You’re using two hands now, smoothing your palms along the sides of his ribs, careful not to get your fingers in between them as you’re doing this. He squirms slightly and you smile once more, but don’t tease him about his apparent ticklishness just yet. That can wait.

You’re forced to stop when his explorations reach your hands, and he takes both of them in his, massaging them to work out where you were one and the same. You let him do as he pleases, just enjoying the ambiance. He seems particularly fascinated with your calluses and general scars from cooking mishaps, and the smoothness of the tops of your nails.

“You’re amazing,” you tell him, voice low in your chest and almost akin to the contented rumble of a cat.

“*so are you,” he shoots back, still turning your hands in his own and marveling at their structure. “*it’s really neat to think that while we’re so different, our basic structure is the same.”

“Yeah.” He seems to be more fiddling than anything at this point, so you take your hands and lace your fingers with his, just enjoying the way your hands fit together. “Except you’re magical.”

“*from what i’ve seen, you can be pretty magical, too,” he teases, expression mischievous. Oh, that little fucker. Before you can say anything, you watch as he closes his eyes and they open again, one so dim you can barely see it and the other burning with his magical energy. Only this time, you can see his Soul manifest within his ribcage, but in there it’s so much dimmer than it was when you’d held it.

You can feel the jolt of energy lick its way up your skin, and you give an obvious gasp and shudder, the goosebumps that had died down immediately picking back up again, the hairs on your arms standing on end. He seems much more interested in how you react to it now that he can see more of you reacting to it and now that he’s paying attention to you so much more. You suppose it has been a while since the two of you went to the top of Mt. Ebott.

Not that he hasn’t occasionally teased you about your affinity for magic since then. Asshole.

“You’re such a butt,” you tell him, not actually meaning it. He’s less interested in your complaining and more interested in the way your hair raises when he jolts you, so he does it again, pulling your arm closer so he can better inspect it. You put up with it, because it’s whatever. It doesn’t actually hurt or anything, it just takes your breath away, and he’s so genuinely interested that you can’t bring yourself to deny him the opportunity.

“*it’s still so wild that you react so much to it,” he murmurs more to himself, releasing your hands finally. You take the opportunity to run your hands along the sides of his ribs, short nails scratching lightly against his sides in retaliation. He sucks in a sharp breath and gives you a dirty look that has you grinning like the evil fuck you feel like right now.

“I know that feeling,” you tell him smugly as he jerks when your nail scrapes against the top of his second highest rib on his left side. You hesitantly spread your fingers, dragging them along the spaces between his ribs, admiring the way he shakes under your touch and his face screws up slightly.

You have fun with that for a moment, his hands frozen in the space between you as he tries to process what you’re doing to him. You decide you’d rather have him laugh, though, and take your fingers out, only to focus back on the places that seemed to make him want to do that. And laugh he does after a few moments of squirming, and you’re so delighted by the sound of his unbridled joy and irritation that you join in.

This only lasts for a few more moments, though, before you feel that familiar jolt of magic and you can no longer move your hands. Sans grunts, and you notice that his eye is blazing, and he uses it to physically push you back until you’re lying on the couch, upper back pressed against the arm of it. He almost looked pissed, but it’s more devious than angry you think, as he climbs over you and onto your lap, his weight pressing your hips down into the cushions.

You can’t do more than jerk uselessly against your magical bonds, breathless and exhilarated all at once. This is such a fascinating perspective that you can’t bring yourself to be upset with him. Not that you would be anyway, you sort of brought this on yourself.

You start when there’s a feeling like a finger dragging along your cheek because he’s still sitting there, hands on his thighs, not touching you. It happens again, and you feel it trail down your neck and to your clavicle in a very familiar way.

You manage a weak, awed “oh” towards him, and the magical fingers (there’s more than one now, skirt around your chest and towards your sides, and your eyes widen comically in abject horror.

You feel your sins crawling on your back.

You feel your arms being taken away from where they’re pinned at your sides, and they settle behind your head, exposing you for him.

“Sans,” you warn weakly, but that’s it. It’s all over.

He finally moves, fingertips dragging lightly over your sides in a way that makes you gasp and squirm before he digs his phalanges into your sides and proceeds to tickle you. You make a very odd, high pitched squeaking sound before dissolving into such intense laughter that your stomach hurts and your eyes sting with tears.

Sans has the gall to laugh at you, muttering things about how you deserve it as you squirm beneath him to try and get away from his hands.

“Sans,” you plead, gasping for air, “Sans _please._ ”

“*you gonna be good?”

“Yes! Yes, I’ll be good! Uncle, _uncle_!” You practically squeal the last word as he gets too close to your armpits. He continues the torture for several moments that feel way too long to you before finally relenting. You breathe heavily beneath him, skin flushed and you’re still quivering with the remainders of your giggling fit.

Sans stares down at you with an unreadable expression before humming out a, “*humans are so fascinating” that you don’t know whether or not to consider comforting. The soothing hands he runs over your sides help marginally, though, and you close your eyes, just focusing on the way you can actually sort of feel the way his magic hums through them, probably because you’re already connected to it. Or, it’s connected to you.

“*i like making you feel good,” comes the gentle murmur from above you, and you realize it’s closer than you remember, so you blink your eyes open, and he’s no more than a foot away from you at this point. “*does… does that bother you?”

You laugh breathlessly, and lift your hands above your head so you can run your fingers across his cheek with a fondness that surprises you. Your hands are still bound together, so it’s awkward, but you make it work.

He tips his head into your hand, eyes half-closed, and you decide that there’s nothing in the world that could bother you about this dumb nerd.

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” It’s not what you meant to have come out of your mouth – you weren’t even thinking about that, actually, but now that it’s out there, you find that you don’t mind that you asked.

“*what? like… an actual date?” He seems cautious, his eyes opening a little more to fix you with an almost serious look.

“Yeah,” you say, stomach doing a small flip. “Don’t worry, I won’t get all broken up if you say no.” And while that’s normally a line you’d feed someone to make them feel better, you find that in this case you actually mean it.

“*i don’t know…”

“C’mon, Sans. Throw me a _bone_ here,” you joke, and he gives a soft chuckle in response.

“*i want to, i do, but i’m what humans would call… non-sexual?”

“Asexual?” You offer helpfully, and he seems relieved.

“*yeah, that one.”

“Sans, buddy, my wonderful, precious cinnamon roll,” you coo, and you don’t do it in a condescending way when you do, “I don’t care about that.”

“*you… you don’t?”

“I just want to be close to you like this. I wasn’t even – I didn’t even think about it, I just said it, and you know what? Saying it felt good. I want to hold your hand and smooch your stupid face and make jokes with you and watch movies and all that dumb stuff. And if I ever wanted my jimmies jangled, I have a pair of hands I’m pretty well acquainted with.”

He snorts at your choice of wording, a hand coming up to cover his mouth at the ridiculous sound. He’s so sweet, you think, and you bring him closer so you can press a kiss to his nose that he seems to be positively thrilled by in the most adorable way possible.

“*though,” he says, “*if you look anything like you did just then during the process, i don’t think i’d mind helping out. i could definitely appreciate the opportunity to _rattle your bones_.”

“So, what, you gonna take me to the _bone zone_ sometime?”

The two of you share a grin, laughing at the insinuation like a couple of idiots, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“*you know what? i’ll take you up on that offer. the date, i mean. besides, i haven’t taken you to grillby’s yet.”

Seven months, one week, and 4 days later, and you’re happier than ever about the fact that you ran into the skeleton down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter didn't go how I expected at all. But that's alright.
> 
> Also here's my headcanon Sans and Pap just because (I really love how /animated/ this Sans is):  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-3DS4yOFJQ
> 
> EDIT: Wow! Over 1100 views and over 125 kudos! You guys are incredible, you really, genuinely make me happy and want to continue writing this for you.


	6. Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First date, and first kiss.
> 
> Featuring Papyrus!
> 
> (Also known as "I regret everything I've ever done.")

Knock knock.

Knock knock knock.

_Knock knock knock knock!_

Groaning from your place in bed, curled up in a mass of blankets, you crack open an eye to glance at the time. It’s barely nine in the morning – you still had another couple hours of sleep to catch up on, so what was going on? It’d better be a fire or something, you think, throwing back the covers and heading to the door as the knocking continues insistently.

Flinging open the door, you’re prepared to spit venom at whoever was there, but deflate once you notice it’s the very bright smile of Papyrus, the taller skeleton leaning down to get all up in your business.

“*GOOD MORNING, _____!” He greets you, far too cheerfully for this time in the morning. You raise a hand and rub at your face, trying to remember that no, not everyone wakes up at noon, not everyone has night classes. Honestly, you’re amazed that Sans is even able to stand upright between his work during the normal hours of the day, chilling with Papyrus and then doing what the fuck ever with you until god knows when.

“Mornin’, Pap,” you greet, and before you can even say anything else, you’re being lifted up in a hug that causes the breath to leave your lungs in a pronounced _whoosh_. Once he puts you down, you take a few deep breaths, gripping the door handle. “What’s goin’ on, man? Haven’t been woken up for hugs before.”

“OH! DID I WAKE YOU? DRAT, I DIDN'T MEAN TO DO THAT, I WAS JUST SO EXCITED! DO YOU MIND IF I COME INSIDE?”

You open the door more and step aside, rubbing your eyes as he steps inside and close the door once he’s safely in the confines of your apartment. You suppose it has to be some sort of an important occasion, and you have to admit that you’re at a loss as to what it could be.

Papyrus turns to you in a flourish, t-shirt billowing around him as he strikes a dramatic pose. It doesn’t last more than a moment though before he’s pulling his hands to his cheeks, and you swear that if it were physically possible, he’d have stars in his eyes.

“SANS TOLD ME THAT YOU HAVE A DATE WITH HIM TODAY!”

Oh shit. Was that today?

“SO I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM HERE TO ENSURE THAT IT GOES OFF WITHOUT A HITCH,” he exclaims, and you find yourself a tad nervous at the prospect. Not about the date, or Papyrus being there, but at how much of a big deal he’s making out of it. You quickly realize that that’s pretty stupid, though, because Papyrus makes a big deal out of literally everything. You remember hearing a story about how the gang went grocery shopping and Frisk introduced him to the pasta isle. You smile slightly at how you imagine that went.

“I SEE YOU'RE EXCITED BY THE PROSPECT. I DO NOT BLAME YOU,” Papyrus practically gushes at you, misinterpreting your smile. Gosh, he’s so cute.

“You’re really cute, man,” you offer, feeling a little less grumpy, and you go over to press a kiss against his stupidly grinning face. He flushes orange, and you find yourself appreciating the color a great deal. “I’d be honored to have The Great Papyrus assist me in preparation for a date with his awesome older brother.”

He squeals, and you find yourself chuckling in amusement. Pulling out a book from seemingly nowhere, Papyrus then begins flipping through it with gusto. The level of energy that he possesses is as awe-inspiring as it is intimidating, but in reality you know that he’s the sweetest person in the universe. He’s the kind of guy that really looks out for his friends and would never willingly hurt a fly.

“FIRST THINGS FIRST,” he says, and you brace yourself, “WE NEED TO SELECT YOU SOME APPROPRIATE DATE ATTIRE! SOMETHING THAT REALLY SAYS YOU CARE!”

You have a feeling it’s going to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been an hour, and you’ve gone through nearly every outfit in your closet. You’d been hoping that “appropriate attire” would include some variation of pajamas because you knew Sans didn’t care less what you wore, but Pap insisted it had to be _just right_. He even turned down your humerus suggestion of wearing that skeleton onesie again, with your insistence that you’d match. It’d been your lucky outfit once, why not have it be lucky once more?

You shuck off yet another shirt and a pair of pants, having changed so often that you couldn’t care less if he saw you in your skivvies. He didn’t much seem to care, either, which worked out well for the both of you. You finally glance at one of the last things in your closet – a nice dress shirt that you’d been avoiding for the sheer thought of being entirely too formal for a casual date to a monster-run bar and grill. It’s not like you had to dress up to go there, Sans knew the bartender for literal years.

“I have no more clothes,” you tell him.

“NONSENSE, THERE'S SOME RIGHT THERE. HERE, LET ME HELP YOU.” And he does his thing, which involves taking it out of your closet and holding it up to your front. It was a rather lovely shade of purple that shone in shades of red and blue depending on the way the creases lay or the light hitting it. He declares it perfect, and then drapes it over your shoulder, looking around for something to go with it. He finds a white tie (oh, haha, you remember when you got that. You just never wear it because white is so easy to stain), a black vest, and a pair of black slacks.

“PUT THIS ON.”

You groan both inwardly and outwardly. “Pap, it’s just a date, it’s not like we’re going out to a crazy expensive restaurant or something,” you insist, even as you’re dressing yourself. To at least maintain some of your carefully crafted casual slobbishness, you roll up the sleeves and leave the top two buttons of your shirt undone, only tucking in half the shirt.

“BUT IT'S A DATE,” he insists, “WITH  _SANS_.”

“Exactly, it’s with _Sans_.” Why is it such a big deal?

“YOU CAN'T EXACTLY BLAME ME FOR WANTING IT TO GO WELL. YOU LOOK SO NICE ALL DRESSED UP, AND HE'S NEVER BEEN ON A DATE BEFORE,” comes the even more insistent reply. “AND YOU MAKE THAT LAZYBONES HAPPIER THAN I'VE EVER SEEN HIM. WELL, BARRING THAT ONE TIME HE MANAGED THAT UPDOG JOKE.”

Wait. “Hold the phone.” He holds his phone literally in his hand, clutching it for what seems like dear life. You’d laugh, but you have business to attend to. “This is Sans’ first date?” You aren’t freaking out right now, shut up, that’s a complete and utter fabrication of the truth that’s being uttered over the way you’re silently screaming in your head right now.

“YES!” Papyrus sounds far too cheerful right now, and you put your hands on either side of his face, wishing you could smoosh his cheeks and make him make a dumb face like Sans does to you sometimes to cheer you up. “WERE… YOU NOT AWARE OF THIS FACT?”

“No! Oh god. This is going to be so weird, isn’t it? What if he said yes just to humor me? He probably did. He probably doesn’t even _like_ me. How long do you think it’ll take to convince him that this was all an elaborate joke to get him to bring me to his favorite bar?” You sound stupid right now, and you’re well aware of the fact. It’s just the jitters.

“OH COME NOW, HUMAN, YOU GIVE YOURSELF FAR TOO LITTLE CREDIT! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WHILE BEING THE MASCOT FOR MONSTERS, A GREAT FRIEND, A MASTER CHEF, AND AN ULTIMATE DATING EXPERT, AM ALSO A FANTASTIC MOTIVATOR AND LIFE COACH!” He cheerfully grabs a hold of your shoulders in his large hands, giving you a slight shake as his brows furrow in something resembling seriousness and determination. “YOU ARE A GREAT PERSON, AND YOU NEEDN'T WORRY! SANS IS VERY FOND OF YOU, AND I'M POSITIVE THAT YOU'LL BOTH HAVE THE BEST OF TIMES! I’LL EVEN LET YOU BORROW MY DATING MANUAL FOR THE DURATION OF THE DATE, SO THAT IF YOU EVER GET LOST, THERE'S ALWAYS THAT TO LOOK TO FOR GUIDANCE. AND… YOU DO HAVE MY CELLPHONE NUMBER.”

“I don’t deserve a friend as good as you,” you wheeze out, feeling a million times more relieved than you had even moments ago. He merely smiles in that way that shows that he knows. You honestly can’t help but wish that Papyrus was your brother.

 

* * *

 

Papyrus leaves sometime later, giving you the book to look over while he goes off to do his own thing. If his enthusiasm with you is any indication, it’s likely that he’s going to give Sans a similar treatment. You feel kind of bad for him, honestly – while Paps can have good intentions, he can be quite… intense. Obviously Sans is used to it, and he does hold his brother in very high esteem, but this whole date nonsense is pretty wild.

You decide to use your available time to have a quick shower before flipping through the book to get an idea of what it is that Papyrus is so insistent that you understand. You do this for a little bit before shooting Sans a good morning text. He’s bound to be fully-conscious by this point.

_verte-bae 11:37am_

_Bone-giorno._

_Sansational 11:38am_

_you’re up early. papyrus got to you too, huh?_

_verte-bae 11:40am_

_9am wake up call. Well, more like a wake up bang._

_He seems pretty excited about all of this._

_Sansational 11:40am_

_yeah, sorry about that. sort of mucked up and let it slip._

_did you have fun at least?_

_verte-bae 11:42am_

_Oh yeah. I had a great time going through my entire wardrobe._

_Been reading over the dating manual he brought over, too._

_Sansational 11:43am_

_haha. of course he’d bring that._

_but since you’re already up, you wanna just head there a bit earlier?_

_verte-bae 11:45am_

_Yeah, sure, I had a shower after he left, so I’m pretty much good to go. I’d probably fall back asleep if I had to wait._

_Sansational 11:45am_

_same._

_don’t worry, though. grillbz is a cool dude, and the place is on fire._

_Verte-bae 11:46am_

_Come over already, nerd._

_Sansational 11:55am_

_knock knock._

You hear knocking at the door, and while you do go over and check it out, you don’t open it. You’re willing to indulge him.

“Who’s there?”

“*raisins.”

“Raisins who?”

“*oh, you don’t have any raisins? well, how about a date?”

You open the door, a wide grin on your face, and your expression is mirrored on the skull of the man in front of you. “Sans,” you breathe, and you want to click your tongue at him for the bad joke/pick up line, but you don’t have the _backbone_ to. Even when he’s being positively absurd, he’s still a sweet guy and a good friend. That had been pretty cute, honestly.

“*well?”

You take a moment to consider him before replying, and while you’re making him wait for your answer, you’re also taking the time to look him over. Papyrus had definitely given him the same treatment that he’d given you, and Sans was gussied up in a way that genuinely surprised you. For some reason, despite the fact that he was dressed rather similarly to you except wearing a black tie and a blue dress shirt, you found that the most affronting part of his ensemble was the pants. The only time you’ve ever seen him wear pants was when you sent him home in some that one time.

Come to think about it, you’re not sure why you hadn’t been more weirded out then.

“Uh,” you start, but finally shake your head slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. A date sounds good.”

“*you sure?” he teases, giving you a more subtle once-over than you’d given him, “*you’re giving me mixed signals here. shakin’ your head while agreeing. damn, you’re givin’ me a skull-splittin’ headache.”

“Sorry, man, you’re just.” You gesture at him as though that explains everything, and he merely raises a browbone, grinning ever so wider. “Pants.”

“*wow. Hold the press. you’re right. i don’t know how i failed to notice it before. pants? dear god, it’s worse than I thought. next thing you know, i’ll be wearing a suit and meeting some cute human for a date.”

“Gotta be careful around those humans, y’know,” you offer back in a conspiratorial whisper, your mouth working before your brain does, “I hear they keep skeletons inside of them.”

Sans gives a laugh that sounds like music to your ears, and offers out his hand to you. You nudge it aside and wrap your arm around his instead, knowing what’s coming next. Instead of leading you into the hall, though, he takes you back into your apartment, and you hear the deadbolt click. How considerate of him.

But then you notice the scent of burnt ozone again, electricity coursing through your body and buzzing in a most delightful, knee-weakening fashion. You’re lead forward toward the couch, and the environment shifts into something familiar and blue before you’re dragged out of another door on the other side. This “other door” seems to lead into an alleyway, probably to make you two less conspicuous, and he leads your muddy-brained self to the street and to your left.

You have enough mental capacity to notice the sign up top, and you take in the sights of Sans’ favorite hangout. You feel privileged that he was letting you join him there, and your chest puffs up a bit in pride. In fact, you barely catch the “*home sweet home” before he pushes open the door and leads you inside.

The first thing you notice is that it’s warm. It’s middle-late July, and while you thought it’d been warm outside, the bar seems to kick it up a notch. You assume it has something to do with the rather lovely looking fire monster bartending. The inside is made of polished woods, and it looks immensely cozy and comfortable, and you can easily imagine why Sans enjoys it so much. The place seemed to have a great atmosphere.

“Hey, Sans!”

“Sans, buddy!”

“How’s it goin’!?”

You blink, and many of the patrons are turning toward you and your frien – date – with a great deal of interest and familiarity. He was definitely a regular, and he gives out greetings to them as you both walk past, and suddenly you have this feeling like you may be a little out of your element. The patrons seemed to be entirely monsters, and they all knew Sans so well. You probably looked incredibly out of place in there.

“*hey, grillbz! gonna need that booth,” Sans says, voice a confident drawl, “and two sets of the usual.” He glances over at you before adding a coffee to the order. You’re grateful for his assistance in the matter, and whatever the usual is, it’ll probably be delicious, but you could definitely use a coffee. You hadn’t had one yet.

The bartender, Grillby, you remember, motions towards the side of the restaurant at an available booth, essentially shooing the both of you away. You don’t take it as dismissive, though – it’s more of a “go on and sit down, I’ve got it covered” that makes you feel a lot more comfortable. At least you know you’re not going to be getting a hard time.

You both sit in the available booth, and get comfortable. Looking across the table, you’ve found yourself at a loss for what to say for once. Your nerves seem to have caught up with you, and while your brain is running a million times an hour, nothing’s stopping long enough to make it to your mouth. Thankfully, Sans comes to your rescue.

“*’the usual’ is a burger and fries, extra ketchup on the side,” he says, reaching up and rubbing at his neck. The tick- _tock_ sound doesn’t bother you nearly as much as it did when you first properly met him, the sound being incredibly familiar at this point. “*didn’t mean to speak for you like that, but i had a feeling you needed a moment.”

“Yeah,” you manage finally, running a finer through your fluffy, air-dried hair. You’d forgotten to put product in it, whoops. “Thanks, man, a burger sounds all hells of fucking delicious right now. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m nervous now. This seems like a nice place, and you’re you, but I can’t help but feel a little. I don’t know, _overwhelmed_ , I guess.”

“*aw, if you’re gettin’ cold feet, we could always sit at the bar,” he jokes, and you reach over to give his hand an appreciative pat.

“It’s not that, it’s… Papyrus made a big deal about this, and I’m the only human in here, and we’re on a –“

Your words die on your lips as Grillby walks over with a platter and places your orders in front of you. You smile up at him gratefully, and you see the way his head tilts forward in acknowledgement. You struggle through the one ASL class that you’ve taken and give him a thank you both through that and your words. The times you’ve hung out with Frisk have forced some of it to come back, but you’re still really rusty even about the limited knowledge base that you have.

He seems a touch surprised, and you see the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as he signs something back to you. You catch brief glimpses of ‘ _welcome_ ’ and something that you think means ‘ _enjoy’_. You give an enthusiastic thumbs up, grabbing your coffee and sticking some cream and sugar in it before taking a sip as Grillby and Sans chat for a moment, and you smile at his retreating form when he goes back to work.

“*so, you’re not feeling so _hot_ about this, huh?” He has the decency to look a little awkward, grabbing the ketchup bottle and squirting some into his open mouth. You watch with interest as it seems to dissolve on his tongue.

“Hey, man, that’s not what I said at all. I mean, geez, you’re hotter than Grillby. I just – What do we even talk about? We’ve spent hours and hours doing things most people do on first dates. We’ve done the awkward small talk, discussed dreams and aspirations, watched the sunset and the stars, and we’ve cuddled and watched movies. The only thing we haven’t done is the customary good night smooch you see plastered all over TV and the movies and shit.”

“*well, then… don’t try.” You look up at him from where your gaze has fallen, and you pop a fry into your mouth. “*despite what my brother said, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. just… do you?”

You watch him for another moment before it lapses into a much more comfortable silence, and you continue to munch on your food and drink your coffee.

“*besides,” he says, “*i don’t care if you’re a human. if that’s what you were worried about. No one here would say anything, either.”

You chew on a fry while you digest what he's said to you. “Hey, Sans?”

“*hmm?”

“What do skeletons call their homies?”

He blinks at that, having not expected it. You can see the gears turning, but nothing clicks, and he gives you a rather intense look, waiting for the punchline. He even shifts forward slightly, paying rapt attention to you. “*i don’t know, what _do_ skeletons call their homies?”

You let the silence hang for another moment, before you grin.

“ _vertebruhs_. …because they always have each other’s _backs_.”

He snorts loudly before landing himself in the midst of a series of such genuine guffaws that you can’t help but join in, your laughter joining his and attracting quite a bit of attention around the bar. It always made you feel good when you could make him laugh like that, and saying the first dumb joke that came to mind helped ease a lot of the tension you were feeling. You watch as Sans brings up a hand to wipe his eyes with the side of his palm, but when he opens his eyes to look at you there’s something that causes him to burst into laughter again, and yours gets more intense as an echo. At this point both of you are laughing at absolutely nothing and it’s the funniest shit you can imagine.

Maybe you both really needed that.

“*vertebruhs, oh my _god_ ,” he wheezes, and you manage to calm down enough to drink some more coffee. Seeing his delight makes you wanna leap into another one, so you do.

“Knock knock.”

“*wh-who’s there?”

“Ya.”

“*ya who?”

“I’m excited to see you, too!”

Another howl of laughter, and he reaches over to grab your forearm to ground himself, his other hand on his face to try and muffle the sound of it.

“*wait, wait, i got one. knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“*broken pencil.”

“Broken pencil, who?”

“*ah, forget it _. this joke is pointless_.”

As stupid as that joke is, the atmosphere causes you to become almost dizzy with laughter, and you shift your arm so that you can hold his hand instead. He gives it a squeeze, and you smile, continuing to eat your fries. The two of you pass a great deal of time like this, passing jokes back and forth, and you only release your hands to be able to eat your burgers. At some point you almost choke on yours with laughter, but it’s worth it. It’s oh, so worth it.

Two coffees, three bottles of ketchup, and two very delicious, filling meals later, the two of you are getting ready to leave. Instead of letting Sans just “put it on his tab”, you end up paying for everything with the excuse that you’d asked him out in the first place, so it was only fair.

You give an enthusiastic farewell to Grillby, linking your arm with Sans’ again as he leads you out the door and back toward the alley. The feel of his magic consumes you once more, and you both end up back in your living room. Still slightly drunk off of his magic and the good time you both had, you turn to him, cupping his face in your hands before leaning down and pressing your lips to his teeth. He stands there stunned for a moment, before you pull back, laughing softly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what –“

You’re cut off by him tugging you back down and you kiss him again, deliriously happy at the outcome of all of this. When you both part, you rest your forehead against his, grinning in that way you do when you think of a good joke, and he seems eager to hear it.

“I know that you are made of beryllium, gold and titanium because you are a _Be-Au-Ti_.”

“*i’d tell you a chemistry joke, _but i doubt i’d get a reaction_.”

“I hit my _neon_ that one, it was _sodium_ funny.”

“*so you’re into science then?” He seems surprisingly interested in knowing this about you. The only things you really knew about him and science were how much he seemed to love human biology and astronomy, but now you were getting the idea that he was into chemistry, and maybe even more than that. Aw, Sans was secretly a giant fucking nerd.

“Nah,” you admit, almost sheepishly, “well, yes, but mostly popular science, some pop culture stuff, and whatever I’ve learned on the internet. I follow several science channels on YouTube, learn stuff from there, and just pick up some stuff. It’s super interesting to me, I just don’t have the time or the energy to get into it, y’know?”

“*fair enough, i can see how it’d be pretty exhausting to the uninitiated.” Wow. Ego, much?

“And you’re supposed to be initiated?”

“…i might have a doctorate equivalent,” he offers after a moment of hesitation, leaning back and sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “doesn’t hold up well outside the underground, though.”

“ _You_ have a _doctorate_? What in?” You feel bad that you’re so surprised by this information, but you genuinely can’t imagine Sans sitting in a boring lecture hall and taking notes on anything, no matter how interesting he finds them. He, thankfully, doesn’t seem to be offended by your lack of faith, and just shrugs.

“*did a double major in quantum physics and magic,” Sans replies, his tone dismissive like it wasn’t a thing that needed to be praised or even discussed at all. Okay, now you felt really bad. Wow. You knew he was smart and perceptive, but you hadn’t realized just how much so. Man, you couldn’t imagine the grueling time it must’ve been to be a part of those classes. Suddenly the ones you’re taking don’t seem nearly so difficult. “*why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re absolutely _incredible_ ,” you gush at him, holding his face in your hands again. “Man, I can’t imagine how much time and work and dedication that took. A double major? One of them being quantum fucking _physics_? I knew you were great, but I – _wow._ ”

His cheeks are blue, and he can’t make eye contact with you. It’s clear that while he’s proud of his accomplishments, he’s also a little uncomfortable with the praise. Or maybe he’s just uncomfortable with things surrounding his interest in science. After all, he has never really talked about it. So you decide to let it drop, smooching his forehead before delving into another joke.

“A bartender says, ‘We don’t serve time travellers here.’ …A time traveller walks into a bar.”

That gets a smile out of him.

“*you wanna get changed into something more comfortable and come join me back at my apartment? we can watch a movie with papyrus. you’ll get to see a movie from the underground. all of mettaton’s classics are pap’s favorite.”

You lean down slightly, and he gets the hint and leans up slightly, meeting you halfway for a quick kiss. The kiss leaves you feeling slightly stupid, if you’re honest with yourself. But in a good way. You’re especially grateful that he doesn’t seem to mind all that much. While you two have smooched faces before, and held hands and all that nonsense, there hadn’t yet been any lips on teeth action. Apparently that was subject to change.

“I’m down for a three-way cuddle sesh and some old monster flick.”

“*alright, i’ll see you in a bit. be prepared for my bro to go all out on you when you get there.” He grins, but you’re appreciative of the advance warning. Turning from you, you watch him disappear from sight. Seems like you couldn’t see the in-between unless you were there. Good to know.

You take a moment to digest the day you’ve had, and then you head into your room to change into something a lot more comfortable. You think you’re going to wear your lucky skeleton onesie again after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting to the home stretch!
> 
> Just two more chapters left!


	7. Announcement!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I get worried when other authors post chapters like this, but really:  
> This is an opportunity for you to get your idea in the next chapter. ;)  
> I love you all and wouldn't abandon you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only a temp chapter. It will be deleted once the new chapter is written and posted.

TL;DR: Leave me a comment about an idea, and said idea will probably be a big part of chapter 7! ;)

 

Good evening, my wonderful readers, my name is Jason and I've been in the midst of taking you on a literary journey of the Sans/Reader variety.

I may have made a mistake in the way I've written this story. Well, not a "mistake" per se, since I don't regret anything but the shoddily written 5th chapter.

It's just that every chapter I've written hasn't been planned, and the ideas that I have had for chapter 7 haven't exactly panned out because the orders of the chapters were all changed and it wouldn't have the same impact if written the way I was going to write it. I've been having some trouble fleshing it out, and nothing in terms of an idea has jumped out at me. All of my chapters are fairly hastily written and every single one of them has been an initial draft. No reading it over, no corrections, just whatever comes to the top of my head. In that sort of a sense, I'll probably go back and fix some awkward wording and dialogue in the 5th chapter once I've finished the story, but it'll essentially remain exactly the same.

Initially, this next chapter was going to be the 5th chapter and involve Sans' nightmares becoming more frequent, but if I wrote it now after the events of what's happened, it would be kind of short and not have nearly the same impact. It was supposed to occur before the protagonist got together with Sans. This is the last chapter I need to write, as I've already written chapter 8, I just need to fix up the ending a bit so that it flows better.

So, chapter 6 happens at the end of July, and the ending of the story will take place in January - six months after the reader has initiated his/her/their relationship with Sans. When this next chapter gets written, I'll post both of them as a double feature.

And who knows, I might decide to write a B-Sides in the future. Probably a PWP fic that fits in with the story if only because one day I started laughing on public transit thinking about a companion story titled "Moonlit Walks, Coffee, and [some sort of boning pun]".

I'm open to pretty much any ideas at this point, and I'll let this sit for a couple days to give people a chance to contribute, unless I see an idea that really just has to get written. But if a couple people have simple requests to see a small moment in the fic, or like I did for someone else, adding in a skeleton onesie - I'm more than happy to do that sort of thing for you guys.

I'm so sorry that I've been rambling.

I'll seriously try to get this out to you as soon as possible.

 

 


	8. Cooking is Science for Hungry People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the request chapters! I know, I know. /One of them./
> 
> I really can't help myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for sin_png, valenros, and Beta Fish!
> 
> Ya'll wanted nerds gushing about science, and some protective Sans. I wrote a whole nother chapter just for you guys! :) 
> 
> Sorry that it's not all that long.
> 
> Here's the video I took Sans' nerdy explanation of a really cool part of Quantum Mechanics from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF2HyCYJrFU

You didn’t know what the big deal was. You’d gotten a hairline fracture on one of your toes from landing wrong after you’d jumped off of the swings. Sure, it’d hurt, but it definitely wasn’t debilitating or life threatening, and after a quick trip to the emergency room, you’d learned that it wasn’t out of place, gotten it taped up, and were given a pair of crutches for the first few days and instructions on how to promote speedier healing. Keep it elevated, ice it, and all that other stuff. Hell, there was even a monster that did some sort of magic voodoo on your foot to help it heal even faster. You’d only be down for two to three weeks at most, which was a vast improvement on the more traditional four to six that’d been the norm before monsters came up from the underground.

…You _really_ wish that someone would explain this to your boyfriend, however. He was like a goddamned mother hen. It was cute, really, and he’d held your hand in the waiting room and everything else, but at this point it didn’t feel like you were allowed to do anything.

It probably had to do with the fact that your injury was a bone one. If it was just a sprain, you’re certain he wouldn’t have gone all out like this. You supposed you understood. Bones were a skeleton’s greatest asset. Without those, he probably couldn’t do a lot.

Though, not doing anything also felt kind of nice, if you were honest. Especially because that meant that Sans was doing things on your behalf. It was neat to see him actually put in the effort to do things. Plus it gave you the excuse to do absolutely jack shit, which involved a lot of video games, homework, and binge-watching Netflix.

The biggest treat was finding out that he was a surprisingly adept cook.

You’re sitting at one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar attached to your kitchen, watching him prepare something for you, and you occasionally put in your input, but let him have free reign other than that. He was in the midst of preparing something for dinner, and from underneath the scents of that, was the to-die-for aroma of fresh, chocolate chip cookies.

You’d considered making teriyaki chicken stir-fry over rice for dinner, as you could still walk (albeit uncomfortably), and you wouldn’t be moving all that much, but Sans was having none of it. The most you were able to do was chop some vegetables for him, and even that took some begging.

It was all worth it, though, when you were both seated at the bar, cookies cooling on the rack and plates of a delicious looking dinner in front of you. Before you take a bite, you lean over and press a lingering kiss to his cheek, amused by the way it flares up with color.

“Thanks, babe, it looks delicious.”

“*i – it – uh. don’t say that until you’ve tried it. it might be terrible.” Is he stuttering? Cute.

“Don’t worry, Sans, it’s really hard to fuck up this stuff. It’s why I buy the instant rice,” you offer, grabbing a bite and shoving it into your mouth with gusto. You chew it thoughtfully, a hum of delight leaving you. It’s great. He should really stop feeling so self-conscious. Some of the veggies were a little firmer than you’d like, but this was his first time making it, and carrots tend to be butts when it comes to cooking them, anyway. You were known to mess up, too. It’s all about trying to get the timing right.

He looks relieved when you smile at him before digging back into your meal. You watch him try it, and he seems a little surprised at the result, before digging in as well. When you’d found out that he’d been living off a diet of junk, pasta, hamburgers, fries, and hot dogs, you’d seen to rectify that. So once a week you’d made him something new and different. It helped expand both of your horizons.

“It’s no wonder you’re so good at cooking,” you tell him through a mouthful, and he raises a brow bone at you inquisitively before you swallow and continue. “Cooking itself is science for hungry people.”

He snorts at that, and you get really into explaining yourself. “No, really! It’s all really simple chemistry and stuff. Like how cooking eggs heats and changes the structure of their proteins. Or how adding a pinch of sugar to pasta sauce helps cut down on the acidity. It’s all pretty cool if you think about it.”

“*i’d never thought about it that way. i’ve only ever really baked before, and that was a few and far between thing. baking is a much more obvious changing of something’s physical properties, though, isn’t it?” He seems thoughtful about the idea, scooping up another bite and giving it a long look over before popping it in his mouth. You offer up an enthused ‘ _mhmm!_ ’ and he seems satisfied by the idea. “*the science here _is_ pretty delicious.”

“Definitely science that I can wrap my head around. And my stomach, too.” You love food.

“*so i guess discussing the string theory is _off the table_ , then.”

That one flies over your head, but you snort anyway. “It’d be much cooler to talk about space. Or how the flat earth theory would really work, or how tungsten has the highest melting point of any current material – hotter than the surface of the sun, but one is in the works that would dethrone it. I like trivia science. Cool random facts and stuff. Like, uh, contrary to popular belief, dogs aren’t completely colorblind. They see browns, yellows, and blues.”

“*that’s cool and all, but nothing can beat one of my favorite things about science.”

“Oh, and what’s that?” You’re finished your food, and you push the plate away, letting out a contented sigh. Your stomach is a little bit distended but overall, you’re feeling good. Plus now you can give him your full attention. You hadn’t heard him outwardly gush about science yet, other than when the two of you were stargazing, or he was learning new and interesting things about your body, trying to piece you together like a puzzle of new and interesting information. Trying to make it make sense as a whole. Humans were much more complex than monsters it seemed. But, really, this ought to be interesting.

“*so, get this,” he says, standing so he can take the plates to the kitchen and throw them into the dishwasher. “*everything behaves like both a particle and a wave at the same time.” He turns to you, gesturing like this is immensely interesting, and already he seems really into it. His voice is on the precipice between quick and jerky and slow and precise, because he’s so amped up, but also wanting to kick it down a notch so that you can follow along. It’s cute. He’s cute.

“*all those weird human sayings, like schrodinger’s cat, god playing dice, anything like that – it’s all possible and follows directly in line with everything a particle and a wave simultaneously. you may be thinking ‘how is this possible?’ you see waves in water, particles of rock, and think, ‘wow, these things are so different, there’s no way they can be related’, am i right?”

You hum out an agreement, even though you know that everything is made out of matter (and magic in a lot of cases), which sort of makes them the exact same thing. Energy is never lost from the universe, it just gets manifested into new and different forms. The same amount of energy that’s always been in the universe will always be the same, no matter how much things seem to grow and shift, no matter how the space between widens. You think of a quote from Carl Sagan. You'd never watched the original Cosmos series, but honestly, who didn't know this one: _"The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff."_

You still listen raptly to his retelling, though.

He’s so easy to listen to.

“*the answer is actually super simple. i mean, monsters already figured all this stuff out, but I’ll try and tell it to you in a human context so it makes more sense. using figures you’ll probably already know the names of. but basically, quantum mechanics was always there, just in bits and pieces, and people put the information together like a crossword puzzle. it was one of those long two or three word phrases in the middle you can’t quite get until you’ve solved most of the rest of the puzzle.

“*so, this einstein character of yours was a brilliant guy, and at some point he realized this light acting as particles thing was actually happening. but he got his information from a guy named planck, who was trying to explain the spectrum of light emitted by a lightbulb…”

You listen to his explanation, and his way of simplifying things, and smile when you watch him pause to try and pull names out of his knowledge of human scientific history. It’s cute the way he pauses, his expression shifting in thought and his hand in the air, mid-gesture, wrist rotating in small circles, two fingers out and the rest curled as he tries to coax out the answer. He rambles a little, getting kind of caught up in the way that science is a process, a way of slowly adding to the puzzle and sticking with his crossword analogy between explaining the marvels that each scientist brought to the table to further the knowledge of quantum mechanics both directly and indirectly.

When he finishes, you find yourself grinning and clapping at his performance. It was way better than sitting through a boring lecture at your college, and you learned a great deal more than you expected to, and were actually retaining some of it. He grins right back at you, a little sheepish, his cheeks flushed, and then turns to grab you both cookies and milk.

Human food was seriously growing on him. Your bad.

“That was amazing. You’re such a fucking nerd,” you offer, your tone teasing and affectionate all at once. He hands you your cookies, and you bite into it while it’s still warm, the chocolate still melty and sticking to the inside of your mouth.

“*eh, well. it’s just cool is all.”

“Don’t shell yourshelf short,” you tell him, mouth still sticky with the sweetness. You take a drink of milk. “It was very… _enlightening_.”

He grins, taking a bite of his cookie.


	9. Take a Ride on the Fluster Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choo choo!
> 
> The long-awaited fluster chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for sin_png, CrossBladeWing, InfrequentlyBlue, and everyone who's ever read this.
> 
> I hope this is what you guys were looking for! I haven't read it over, but I'm like hnnghghgngn, so you guys can just have it.

“He’s only gone for the weekend, you don’t have to act like it’s the end of the world,” you say pointedly to the lump on your couch, which apparently also goes by the name of Sans. Said lump grunts out some sort of response that you don’t catch, but that’s okay because you’re not even sure it’s words. Or that it’s trying to communicate with you at all. It must’ve learned another language, because you don’t understand what it’s “saying”, but you can still derive the meaning of disgruntled acknowledgement.

You grunt something right back at said lump – him, nudging him with your knee so that he’ll at least move over so that you can sit down. He doesn’t, though, and you feign a grossly over-exaggerated sigh of inconvenience, before you step over him, shifting so that you can lay half on top of him and half behind him. Stretching in a similarly over-exaggerated fashion, you attempt to nudge him off of the couch entirely, but you’re not completely trying to. You’re just trying to get him out of his funk.

Instead of rolling off the couch, though, he rolls back towards you, laying out on his back and purposefully scooching over so that you’re pressed uncomfortably against the back of the couch. When you raise your head to give him a look, he manages an dramatic sigh, shrugging his shoulders as best he can in his position in a “what can you do” sort of fashion.

You sigh right back at him, purposefully being louder, and he echoes it, even louder than you had. You give the most dramatic sigh of them all, loud and drawn out, as you get up, only to end up straddling his lap.

“Lump on my couch, thy name is Sans,” you lament, in a nigh on Shakespearean fashion.

That causes a twitch of the corners of his mouth, though he resists the urge to smile.

“Why art thou such a lump on these cushions, dearest verte-bae?” You coo, still filled with that dramatic flair. “What darkness toils in thy withered soul so deeply?”

Your hands shift to his ribcage, and you part his hoodie further so that you can rub soothing circles against his sides. He hums lowly, enjoying your touch and the way that the fabric of his t-shirt shifts and bunches against your hands and curls slightly against and barely between his ribs. You smile softly down at him, your hands shifting to his chest to continue what you were doing, though now you feel as though you can rub firmer circles against his sternum with your thumbs.

There are some things about Sans’ anatomy that you’re certain of, but you have trouble putting that knowledge to decent use. For instance, you know that his bones are much thicker and stronger than yours. They’ve been scarred and healed and no matter how much he falls or how hard, he’s still relatively okay. And he heals so _quickly_.

It’s so unlike humans and their delicate anatomy. You hadn’t really considered humans “delicate” as a species before you’d really started spending time with monsters, but something small kept humans in bed for weeks. Sicknesses, injuries; anything of the sort left you all defenseless and afraid. Case in point of when you cracked one of your toes when you landed on it funny.

Despite all of the strength Sans possessed that you knew you didn’t, it was still hard not to treat him in a human context sometimes. Like now, with your vague pressure on his ribs. In a human, the chest wall and the ribs’ natural springiness would protect them, but too much pressure and they would cave too much and crack. Sans’ bones didn’t have this issue, and were immensely strong, probably having much to do with the magic coursing through them. When you can feel it, it thrums like a heartbeat in your mind, pulsing just beneath his surface, buzzing and fluttering for you. In certain places it was stronger, like right now.

You focus enough to pay attention to the much stronger thrum than usual, noticing his contented expression and flushed cheeks, and the way his smile seemed to curl more in the corners like the expression of a remarkably smug cat who was getting all of the attention. You find yourself smiling in return, and you must’ve made some sort of small noise of amusement, because Sans is offering a half-lidded gaze up at you, suddenly.

You say “suddenly”, despite the action being slow, like he was roused from sleep, but it’s because you’s stopped paying attention to the world when you smiled. Sans looks up at you for a moment, taking in your expression for several beats longer than was necessary. You never stopped what you were doing, your cheeks warming a touch and that’s all. He didn’t cause you to feel embarrassed all that much anymore. It was nice to feel good about yourself, and not be judged, and just enjoy a tender moment.

His expression softens, and you almost don’t catch it because your attention is focused on his hand as it comes up to your face, finger tracing over the crinkles at the corner of an eye, and how it trailed down to fallow the curve of a laugh line. You almost don’t notice the look of sheer adoration he’s giving you, but you do. And you see with almost crystal clarity, especially when his hand curves around the back of your neck and base of your skull, tugging you down to him, that the lights that make up his gaze have tuned into hearts.

It’s absurd. It’s completely absurd and hilarious and so unbelievably precious, and you want to ask him about it, how it happens, how it works, how _he_ works, but all you can manage is an even warmer smile before you kiss his teeth. Both of your actions were slow, almost lazy in nature, but they were filled with warmth.

One kiss turns into two, which turns into five, slow and drawn out.

“You’re so cute when you look at me like that,” you murmur, and you press another kiss more towards the corner of his mouth, nose rubbing against a tepid cheek. It cools slightly, and you find yourself chuckling and smiling against him. He gets slightly cooler when he blushes – a fascinating feature of his magic. Papyrus was warmer, Sans was much cooler. Thankfully he was generally the ambient temperature of your apartment, though, which you kept warm for cuddling purposes.

“*what are you talking about?” he breathes, sounding slightly embarrassed, but it was still in the same, lazy murmur that you’d teased him with. You draw back slightly to look at him, and you could see his eyes struggling to get those dumb hearts to go away. You raise a hand to rub fondly over the side of his skull, taking in how flushed and vulnerable he looked under you like that. His hands shift slightly on your hips, and you wonder when they’d gotten there.

You don’t wear lipstick, but in that moment you want to buy some and cover his face with a thousand kisses.

It’s easy to tell when your smile curls up in the corners, because Sans turns his head slightly, cheeks more saturated with color. You can tell he’s embarrassed, and you love it. He’d been guarded for so long that you hadn’t noticed, until one day he _wasn’t_ , and you found a newfound adoration for trying to put chinks in his armor and watch the rawness shine through. You’d thought that you’d done it once before, while you were still friends, but that was just one of the layers that made up Sans Snowdin. But you were certain, now, as you watched him squirm under your hands and turn abashedly away from your smile, that this was the real Sans.

“*you’re staring,” he says, and it knocks you out of your reverie a little bit. You suppose you had been staring at him for a little bit, hadn’t you. “*do i have something on my face, or what?”

Frowning slightly, you manage a very regretful, “You do have something on your face.”

He reaches up to try and wipe it off, and you take your other hand and nudge his away so you can hold his face in both of your hands, leaning down to whisper, “It’s covered in kisses.” Sans turns his face to yours, brows raising, and he tries to stutter something out, but you lean in and start pressing kisses all over his face. His teeth, his cheekbones, his brows, the ridge of his nose. Each feature he has gets a kiss that lingers before quick, butterfly-esque pecks gets randomly thrown around the rest of his face.

His features are nearing cold at this point, but you like to think that your kisses are warming him up a bit, as he squirms and laughs under you, flustered and full and adoration all at once.

“You’re amazing,” you murmur to him between a few kisses to his cheek. “You’re incredible. You look so cute. Wonderful, even. You make me so happy.” Between each sentence, you shift to another place, moving your kisses to his jaw, and then daringly shift them to his neck vertebrae and you feel the way he shifts under you, shaking slightly and overwhelmed.

When did he start breathing so heavily? When did you for that matter? He doesn’t even have an excuse, as he doesn’t actually need to breathe – it’s just an odd quirk of his that comforts you. Makes him seem more alive. You, though, you’re just overwhelmed. You don’t even think you’re close to aroused, maybe just so emotionally invested, so in the moment and overwhelmed by this, and him, that your breathing is picking up.

Hesitantly, his fingers reach up and settle onto the back of your head, palm flat where it sits, and fingers barely shifting, though they do, like they want to grip you tightly but refrain. He has remarkable amounts of self-control, and you would do to follow in his example sometime. He probably mostly doesn’t want to get his fingers caught in your hair, though. You suppose that’s a good enough excuse, when he makes the smallest motion to tug you in closer.

You run your tongue over one of his vertebrae, and you can feel him shudder even more than you can see it. It’s a visceral thing that rocks through his entire being. He’s cold, and you think that you’re beginning to like cooler temperatures.

“*tha’s, ah – it’s nice,” he manages, stumbling over his words, and you grin against his neck before giving it a nip. That gets a most bizarre sound out of him that sounds suspiciously close to –

“Did you just _squeak_?” Comes your incredulous voice as you lean back to give him a look. He squirms, shaking his head and that is the cutest fucking thing. He’s so fucking adorable, what is life, even? You laugh at him, leaning down to smooch his teeth again, and he just pouts as best he can with the assault you’re putting him under currently being a thing that’s happening. “Fucking hell, man, you’re way too precious for this world. This entire _universe_ , even.”

He groans, low and long, silently begging the universe to kill him now. He doesn’t mean that, though, not actually, and you can tell by the way his cheeks heat up more and the corners of his mouth twitch so that he can smile ever so slightly wider. He tries to make his point more poignant, though, by wrapping both arms over his face, as though his thicker bones acted as some sort of a sheet.

They didn’t.

You laugh a little harder at his reaction, cooing all sorts of ridiculous things at him, and eventually he pulls his hands away, expression settling on a sort of determination. You raise your brow at him and grin even how ineffective the look he was giving you was, but –

Oh.

His hands slide their way under your shirt, fingertips sliding against your back a little roughly. You think they might be leaving marks against your skin without breaking it, and you shudder, eyebrows shooting almost up to your hairline. Your cheeks heat up, and you snort as though this isn’t getting you sort of riled up.

“* _you’re_ the cutest,” he spits back at you, “*and _you’re_ the most precious thing in the universe.” He says this all matter-of-factly, and you find yourself affronted by the insinuation. There is no way. You give him a blank stare, which is rendered mildly ineffective considering your flushed features.

“Excuse the fuck out of you,” you tell him, “that’s a blatant _fibula_.” You can’t remember where a fibula is, but you distinctly remember that joke.

“*oh, it is on.”

“Like Donkey Kong,” you finish solemnly.

Instantly it becomes a game of fluster chicken. The two of you continuously try to outdo each other with flirting and compliments and non-sexual touches. The whole thing passes by in an inexplicit blur, but some of the highlights that caught your attention were:

“*your smile is a gift you give me every day.”

“If I had a star for every time you made me smile, I’d have the whole night sky in my hands.”

“*your eyes are like a sunset. beautiful, inspiring, and hard to turn away from.”

It was getting really freaking intense, and neither of you had the intention to lose, and you swear you’d kissed him so many times your lips were numb. You’re almost upset, though, because you guys are toe to toe, equally flushed in your respective colors, and your heart and Soul hurt from how unbelievably happy and intensely emotional you are.

But then you think, a-ha! There is one thing you can do, that you’d been practicing. And if he takes up your offer, you’d win. …Probably.

Bringing your hand up to your chest, you watch his eye sockets widen minutely as you rest the side of your fist against your chest and tug out your Soul. You feel a strange flip in your chest, like the excitement and nausea and impending feeling of doom that come from riding a roller coaster – especially one that goes upside-down. But then in front of you, is your Soul. You feel as he sits up from beneath you, and you shift. He sits up properly on the couch and you straddle his lap easily.

Looking from your Soul to you, and then back to your Soul, his expression shifts, and he takes the bait, tugging his Soul out of his chest. You huff, and the both of you challengingly take each other’s Souls in your hands, lightly touching them in a gentle, affectionate manner.

That is, until you bring his up to your mouth and _lick_ it.

Sans jerks, some strange, strangled sound coming out of his mouth at that, jaw partially open and eyes dark. You hadn’t realized it was that intense, but he lets out a shaky, woosh of air (seriously, how the fuck does he do that? He’s a skeleton) and comes down from his several moment long lapse in… existence, essentially.

You have the decency to look sheepish. “Whoops?”

He doesn’t say anything, just grabs you by the back of the head once more and draws you into a doozy of a kiss that leaves you feel dazed. While you’re distracted, then he starts toying with your Soul with one hand, and you find yourself shaking above him, and you’re lucky you’re sitting on your heels, because if you were standing, your knees would have gone weak.

When he leaves you be, you’re panting and quivering, face flushed, and you’re definitely a lot more aroused than you’ve been in a long time. That was not the intention. That was nobody’s intention, but there you were.

“*if you’re still gonna keep goin’, i might have to start including some magic –“ he starts to say, but you cut him off before the end of his sentence. Before he even says the words “some magic” even. You shakily reach for your Soul, and you whine when he holds it up and away from you.

“*well? what do you say?”

“Sans, you won. Pleaaaaase can I have my Soul back??”

“*hmm. i might need more convincing,” he jokes, and you give him back his Soul, the blue heart fading into his chest. You put your hands on both of his cheeks with a pap.

“I need a few minutes to take a breather,” you tell him, and at first he doesn’t get it. Why the fuck would you need – but then it hits him, and he lets out a quiet ‘oh’ of understanding, handing your Soul back to you. But not before giving it once last rub out of a need for revenge. The sound that leaves you is… embarrassing. And you just. You go, telling him you’ll be right back.

The smarmy bastard has the gall to laugh. You flip him the bird before you disappear down the hallway.

You don’t hear him get up from the couch, his slipper-clad feet shuffling down the hallway after you.


	10. Frequency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you say you love him, and the sentiment is returned, just not in so many words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't read this, it's awful garbage. It's not how I wanted this chapter to go at all.
> 
> Whines loudly.

“Your nightmares are happening more frequently, Sans.”

It was a week until Halloween, and you and Sans were in your apartment sipping on hot cocoa and watching a movie. He’d brought over one of his favorite flicks from the underground for the two of you to watch, but neither of you were fully engrossed in it. He was lost in thought, it seemed, the growing darkness under his sockets an indication of his poor sleep as of late. You, on the other hand, were focused more on him and worrying about his health and wellness. There would always be another opportunity to watch the movie, but you only had one Sans.

“*it’s fine,” he tells you, frowning slightly and shaking off your concern like it’s nothing but the sweat beading on the sides of his skull.

You frown at him slightly, before shifting your gaze to glance over to the calendar on your wall by the kitchen. You can’t see what it says from here, but you know what it contains. You’d been making notes of when he came to you late at night like this, and it’s been happening more often than not now. When you’d first started meeting up, you’d seen him once every couple weeks, then once a week, and recently it’s gone up to three times a week.

It wasn’t as though you minded his company or anything – in fact, you relished in it – but when he was awake at this hour, it meant that he’d had another night terror. Between work, and hanging out with Papyrus and everything else, he had no other reason to be awake at these hours. Usually you hung out with him on weekends. Those were the times you actually had plans with him. He’d go see his friends in the mornings then, and you in the evenings, but he still left at a reasonable hour to go to sleep. This sleep deprivation thing wasn’t doing him any favors. He was even more sluggish than usual, and it wasn’t hard to tell that his t-shirt was overdue for a wash.

“It’s not, though,” you murmur, still not looking at him. “I’m worried about you.”

“*listen, everything’s –“

You shake your head, adamant, before looking at him. “It’s not fine. It’s not ‘okay’. If it is, then you have a pretty terrible definition for the word ‘okay’, or you have supremely low standards.” You hadn’t meant for your words to be so harsh, and you soften your expression, reaching over to take his hand in yours. He doesn’t fight it when you thread your fingers through his bony ones. Ordinarily someone in this position might tell the person that they love them, but in yours, you can’t bring yourself to manage it.

“I only have one of you,” you say, and you hope that it’s enough.

He lets out this sigh that says he’s annoyed, though it’s in a way that reminds you of a teenager sighing at their parent for caring about them and their well-being. It’s a start.

“*i’ve always had frequent nightmares,” he says reluctantly, shrugging. “*i just come over more frequently now.”

You grimace and your heart – no, your _Soul_ aches for him. “Are they from the… you know.”

“*yeah.”

You shift your position and lean heavily against your boyfriend, and while you mind the scent of his unwashed shirt, and the way his shoulder digs into you, you care about him a hell of a lot more than any of that, and you wanted to do your best to try and make him feel better. Even if you weren’t all that great at it. You were kind of awkward in some ways, and enjoyed distracting people from their problems because you didn’t know what to say or how to fix them. And this was one of the most difficult situations you’ve been put in thus far, and yet it had nothing to do with you. It was hard to just sit on the sidelines when someone you lo – cared about was suffering.

Several moments pass before Sans shifts, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and tugging him closer to his side. One of your arms comes up, your fingers loosely grabbing the fabric of his t-shirt in such a way that even if you let go, the pockets your fingers created as they would hang with nothing more than the weight of gravity.

“*…that wasn’t entirely true,” he murmurs, after the movie has ended. You barely know what he’s talking about at this point. You make a small noise to indicate your confusion, but don’t use your words. You don’t want to dissuade him from talking about whatever it is by asking questions. Not when it seemed he was finally going to open up to you.

He sighs heavily, sounding as exhausted as he seemed for once, and his hand comes up to rub at his face before he pinches the short ridge of his nasal bone in not quite exasperation, but something close to it.

“*the nightmares have been happening more frequently, recently. not as long as you think – just the last couple of weeks. it’s… i think it’s some sort of…” He does that thing with his wrist when he’s trying to think of a proper word for it, and you offer up “premonition” awkwardly. He frowns at the word, and you almost feel bad for saying it, but he offers a sardonic little chuckle. “*yeah, something like that. ‘herald of doom’ is more accurate.”

“What… is that supposed to mean?”

“*nothin’, babe, don’t worry about it,” he tells you, words firm, but voice soft enough to lessen the blow. You can’t shake the feeling in your gut, but you don’t want to push him any more than you have to. He’d tell you in time, like he always did. As full of secrets as Sans is, he’s learning to open up slowly. You like to think it’s because you’ve proven to him time and again that you’re trustworthy and that you care.

Like that time you took a hit for Papyrus. You hadn’t even thought about it, you’d just stepped in front of the blow of someone who was confused, and scared, someone whose phobia got the better of them. The woman seemed horrified when she’d hit you, and she’d apologized repeatedly, having not known that her emotions would cause her to lash out. She didn’t just apologize to you, either. She apologized to everyone.

Not everyone was so quick to change. Sometimes fear settled into anger and morphed into hate. It’d been years and you wished that people would just get over themselves, but then you have to breathe and remember that it’d taken decades for women’s rights, and even longer for people of color to also have their rights established. A couple years wasn’t enough to undo all the history between the species, and there would be a long, and gruelling civil rights battle that you hoped would come to fruition in your lifetime.

Your grip on his t-shirt tightens, and he casts you a glance.

“*are you alright?”

You hadn’t even noticed the way that your expression shifted into a grimace at all of the dark thoughts. His voice breaks you out of your depressing train of thought, but when you look up at him your heart merely sinks even further. You couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt him when he was already so damaged. You don’t know why anyone would willingly want to hurt any of your friends. God, you couldn’t imagine how difficult shit was for them, and you’d been with them through quite a bit of it.

When you go to open your mouth, to explain yourself, to tell him you’re fine, nothing but a choked sound comes out, and you don’t know why you’re starting to cry.

Sans looks alarmed – you don’t think you’ve ever cried in front of him before. Not actually. Not like this.

He curses, actually curses, and seems to not know what to do with you, or how to comfort you. So he does what you do for him, drawing him close and rubbing your back, and you cling to him with all your might, still worried in the back part of your mind about how you might be squeezing too tight and hurting him. You know you’re not, but the fact that you’re still worried about it causes you to let out a laugh that’s broken up by your tears.

“I love you,” you tell him, and what hurts the most is that you mean it. You mean every fucking ounce of it, and that’s a little terrifying. Your heart and Soul both squeeze painfully in your chest, and Sans’ movements stutter, still, and then start again. You’re not sure what that means, but you know that all the times you’ve said it to someone before, it didn’t compare for the things you felt for this sweet, wonderful person that you’ve been calling your own for only a short while.

“I-I’m sorry, It’s probably – I mean, s’too soon, and I –“

He draws away, and you feel fear deep in the pit of your stomach, but he smiles at you, and it’s tentative, but warm. “*what brought this on?”

You sniffle, pulling your sleeve over your palm so that you can wipe your eyes and take a second to breathe. It’s shaky, but you’re getting there.

“I was just thinking about you, and all the shit you’ve been through, and how shitty so many people are to you, and to your brother, and all our friends, and how much hell you’ve all gone through, and how strong you are, and how much longer you’ll all have to fight to even be considered _people_ , and it’s so fucking _awful_ , and I just. I want you to be okay. I want all of you to be okay.”

“*we will be,” he says, and you don’t bring up the lack of conviction in his voice. “*and as for the other thing? i – i can’t. not yet. i have to be sure.”

 _‘I have to be sure that there’s not going to be another reset.’_ Is what you glean from that, and you nod in understanding. You’re not too upset, you know you were slightly out of line, and besides, who could blame Sans for thinking that way after everything that he’s had to deal with? You felt a lot more relieved now, actually. He knew, he had the opportunity to take it or leave it, and he was going to take it, eventually. You knew he cared about you a lot. It shone through his actions much more often than his words.

“Do you wanna have a shower with me? Maybe stay over?” You question, sounding tired. If he was okay with it, it’d be really nice to have him in your bed, so that if he woke up again you could comfort him sooner rather than later, and his presence would be comforting for you as well. Hopefully he would appreciate the offer and the company, but if he said no, that wasn’t a problem either. He was his own person, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

“*… _with_ you?” He questions, and suddenly it hit you how you worded that. Oops.

“We could shower separately, I don’t mind, I wasn’t –“

“*sure.”

“Sure?”

He shrugs, and you weren’t expecting that. So you lick your suddenly dry lips and clear your throat. It wasn’t all that big of a deal. The two of you had decided he’d might as well keep a change of clothes here anyway, just in case the two of you ended up crashing on the couch or something by accident, and he was too tired to focus on using his magic and was too lazy to walk down the hall to his own room. And honestly, it wasn’t like you both hadn’t seen each other naked before.

It briefly occurs to you that humans have a way of rationalizing just about anything.

Honestly, the truth was that you just wanted him around right now, no matter the context.

You stand, holding your hand out to him and he takes it. Tugging him forward doesn’t take a whole lot of work – he’s not all that heavy, really. You surmise him to be about fifty pounds or do. It would probably be less for the average person, but his bones were thicker and stronger. It probably did something to their weight. Honestly, though, you weren’t a scientist, so you’re just going to not think about it too hard. All you know is that your boyfriend is barely qualified to be a paperweight.

You smile at him, and he gets a little bit too close to have been from you pulling him up, and he tips his head back in invitation, looking tired. You hum at him before leaning down slightly and pressing a kiss against his teeth. He seems satisfied by the transaction, and you head to the bathroom to fiddle with the taps, and he goes to grab a couple of towels. After you found out that for the first several months he was consistently bullshitting you about the temperature of things, you stopped trusting him with it.

A hand settles on your back, and after a moment there’s another one. You feel his hands rub against your tense shoulder muscles, and you groan in appreciation.

“I don’t deserve you,” you tell him, and he pauses for a moment so that he can nuzzle into the nape of your neck.

“*it’s funny, y’know. i think the opposite. like maybe i’m not good enough for you.”

“That’s not true,” you manage, voice coming out a little shorter, a little harsher than you intend it. You turn around, pressing a kiss against his teeth again. “You’re amazing, and I hold you in very high esteem.”

He looks exhausted, but that gets a twinge of a smile out of him, his cheeks cool to the touch when you place your hands on them. He leans forward to smooch you again in the only way he seems able to, and you relish in it. That is, until you feel his tongue against your lips. You start, having not expected it, before you part your lips and follow his lead, only taking it as far as he’s willing to go with it. The kiss is awkward, the two of you inexperienced in this particular area still, but it’s intense, and you feel your body shivering from every point of contact his tongue makes with you. This continues for several moments, before you’re whimpering and tugging at his shirt. He breaks away, looking sheepish, and you’re trying to find the breath you lost.

“That was way intense,” you manage after a moment, head a little fuzzy. “IS there any way to like… tone that down for next time?”

“*what do you mean? are you telling me to dial it down on the magic?” He looks amused, and you watch him slide his hoodie off, followed by his shirt, both items being dumped on the floor without a care. You don’t care, either. You’re kind of a slob, too.

“If that’s possible. Just about lost my mind there,” you breathe out, shivering at the aftershocks that hit you at the memory.

“*that so?” He teases, and he reaches over to slide his hands under your shirt. You raise your hands so that he can tug it off and drop that to the floor, too. His hands don’t leave your skin, merely running over your skin in a way that’s comforting and arousing all at once. You breathe out a content sigh, letting him explore your body at his leisure for a few moments. “*i’ll see what i can do. wouldn’t want to explode over a kiss or nothin’.”

His comment causes your cheeks to heat up, and he laughs.

The rest of your clothes come off in a similar manner, and once you’re naked, in the awful bathroom lighting, he takes a step back and simply admires you. There’s nothing judging there at all, but you can’t help but shift nervously.

“So? What do you think?”

“*i think you look amazing,” he tells you, and you know he means it. His clothes come off a little slower than yours do, and he seems equally as awkward as you when he’s bare. “*so, what do you think?”

You hook your fingers against his hips and pull him to your body so that you can give him a kiss on the cheek, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. “I think you look great. Weird, but great.” You’re only teasing him, really, and you’re grateful when he laughs.

The shower you both take is warm, and much of the time is spent with stolen kisses, the two of you exploring each other with your hands in a manner that somehow was both affectionate and clinical all at the same time. He touches you far more often than you touch him, and he marvels at the way your body gives under his hands, molding to fit him.

Despite the fact that he won’t say it to you, you feel more loved than you ever have in your entire life.

The two of you exit the shower, toweling off before heading into your room to go and change into something before bed. You head back into the bathroom afterward to grab both of your guys’ clothing and stick that and the towels in the wash with a couple other things to make it a full load.

When you get back in the bedroom, Sans is already waiting for you there, tucked into bed with the sheets raised. You smile, climbing to bed to join him, and sighing contently when he wraps his arms around you. It’s uncomfortable, but safe, and you hope that he’ll stay here with you more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is next!


	11. The End is Never the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it!
> 
> Please leave all wayward limbs inside the vehicle at all times, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Is never the end, is never the end)
> 
> January 21st, four and a bit years since the monsters escaped from the underground, exactly one year since you’d met Sans in the hallway:

_Beep beep beep beep._

You groan and reach over to hit the snooze button on the alarm, knowing you have to get up in a bit, but you’ve always managed to plan your day so that you can hit the snooze button several times before having to physically get out of bed. It would be a comforting morning ritual, except that it wasn’t comforting at all. What was comforting was the way that your boyfriend snagged your arm and tugged it back to your body, his cool bones pressing against the bare skin of your own arms. You smile and thread your fingers with his as he nuzzles against the back of your head.

“How long’ve you been up?” You question groggily, taking your other hand and shifting so you can wipe remnants of drool from the corners of your mouth and the sleepies from your eyes.

“*not all that long,” he murmurs against you, but judging from the sound of his voice, he was definitely a lot more awake than you felt at the moment. “*mornin’, though. how’d you sleep?”

You have to think about that for a moment. You’re a little sore, and you’re not sure if that was from last night, or the fact that you slept with a literal pile of bones. You stretch as much as you can in your current position, arching against him and letting out a stuttered yawn, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep for a little bit. You don’t see why you couldn’t, it’s the weekend. That was the nearly the entire reason Sans was currently sleeping in your bed with you. He’d come over after you’d both sent Papyrus to bed with an elaborate bedtime story, the two of you using all manner of voices to entertain him.

He was rather restless, though, and it’d gotten to the point of where you almost busted out ‘ _Go the Fuck to Sleep_.’

“I slept okay, I guess. Ask me when I’m more awake.”

He chuckles at you, his voice still a little husky from disuse so it rumbled slightly in a way that was more than pleasant to you. You really liked any time he laughed, though. Even the laughs that were stupid and embarrassing and had him wheezing and snorting. You couldn’t fault him, sometimes you did the same damn thing.

He detangles himself from you, nudging you onto your stomach, which you don’t mind all that much. You had a myriad of soft, fluffy pillows to suffocate yourself in. Not the worst death, you supposed.

What’s noteworthy about this, though, is the way Sans shifts to get up, and you’re almost about to complain when you feel him straddle your hips. You shift so that you’re more comfortable, and let out a pleasant hum when you feel his hands slide over the bare skin of your back. He grabs some massage gel from your nightstand and pours a little bit into the small of your back, which causes it to arch at the change in temperature. As irritating as it feels, you have to admit that it’s a great resource for fighting friction.

Your boyfriend is literally bones.

You snicker to yourself quietly, and then let out a groan when he starts massaging your sore muscles. It’s so pleasant that you feel yourself start to drift back into dreamland. He pokes your cheek, though, which causes you to raise your upper arm a bit in defense and bury your face further into your pillow.

“*don’t go falling asleep on me again. you promised to make breakfast.”

Oh yeah.

You grumble some sort of an affirmative, letting your boyfriend pamper you. This was definitely a treat. You’d think that Sans, being as lazy as he tends to be, wouldn’t willingly go out of his way to do this for you, but while half the time he can’t be assed to even so much as open the door for you, he’s surprisingly invested in making you physically feel good. But that’s probably mostly because even after dating for six months he still thinks your body is the most interesting thing he’s ever encountered.

He keeps rubbing your back until your alarm goes off again, your time for snoozing over. You could have lain there and let him continue through another snooze cycle, but he gets off of you and tugs the blanket off of you. It’s a cold winter day, and you curl up further on yourself, shivering. Sans, having the inability to feel the ambient temperature, at least manages to look guilty for doing that. It works, though, and you find yourself sitting up on the edge of the bed and yawning widely again.

“*maybe you should have a shower first,” he coaxes gently, and you hate him sometimes because he’s so nice and logical and he knows what works for you almost better than you do. Fuck this guy, seriously. Whining, you reach over and hook your fingers into his t-shirt, tugging him closer and resting your forehead against the lower part of his sternum.

“Maybe we should stay in bed forever,” you offer back, as a last ditch attempt, but you’re not feeling it. Your hands slide down to rest on his hipbones, your thumbs resting on the crests of them. “Not like that, though,” you quickly amend. “Last night was way more than enough to last me the next three years.”

Sex with Sans was very infrequent, and you were honestly pretty grateful for that. It could be pretty… intense.

He chuckles, pressing his mouth to the top of your head, arms resting on your shoulders. “*i take it you had fun, then?” Despite the bravado he was trying to exhume, you know that he’s still… self-conscious about it all.

“I had a blast.” You hold him for another moment more, before nudging him away so that you can stand and stretch. Your back pops obnoxiously, and you can see him wince a little bit at the sound, but you give him a reassuring smile. “Alright, if you can do me a favor and bring some of the things I need over to your place, that’d be great. If he’s up for eating, that is. He might’ve already done that.”

“*if nothing else, i’ll head over and check.” He smiles fondly at you. He’s always loved how much you think about his brother and try to think of new ways to include and spoil him. It was one of the things that he enjoyed most about you.

You brush past him and grab yourself some clothing, heading toward the bathroom to have your shower, telling him you won’t be long.

As you finish up and head into your room to get changed, you hear your phone buzz from its place on your nightstand, so you go over and check the contents. It’s a message from Papyrus followed by one from Sans. You can’t help but smile at them both.

 

_The Great Papyrus_

_I AM MOST GRATEFUL FOR YOUR OFFER OF SUSTENANCE, AND AS IT IS ABOUT LUNCH TIME FOR ME, I WOULD NOT MIND JOINING YOU AND SANS FOR SOMETHING TO EAT. LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING YOU SHORTLY!_

_Sansational_

_you probably already saw, but yeah. paps is game for food. i already brought over the eggs and bacon and i didn’t know what else you were planning on so that’s all i grabbed._

 

You text them both back with a quick:

 

_verte-bae/NIGHT OWL_

_Thanks, guys! I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes._

_< 3._

You finish getting dressed, grabbing a loaf of bread and shoving on some slippers before making your way down the hallway. Your hair is still damp, and you look like you’re ready for a comfortable day of sitting on your butt and doing nothing, but you’re considerably more awake than you had been earlier. Knocking on the door once, you open the door and head inside. You’d passed the point of needing to wait for someone to open the door for you.

You’re greeted by the guys as they sit at the dining table, the two of them chatting about something and nothing all at the same time. You see Sans, and note that he looks a lot better now than he has looked in a long while, but something was definitely off. You make a note to ask him about it later, and for now you merely kiss the tops of their skulls (Sans first, and then Papyrus when he gives you that look that you can’t resist) before heading into the kitchen to start breakfast.

But you can’t seem to get the temperature right. It still feels much cooler than it ought to be. You go from watching the clock – 12:05pm, and then what feels like several minutes later, the time is still stuck there. 12:05pm.

“Papyrus, I think your stove is kind of messed up,” you call, and you turn to face the brothers. “It doesn’t want to heat up.” As you turn, it feels slow, sluggish almost, but only just enough to be noticeable and not enough to be a hindrance. It’s a little strange, but you don’t think too much of it.

That is until Papyrus mentions it.

“WOWIE,” he says, blinking as he makes his way over to the kitchen, “I MUST’VE DONE MORE THAN I THOUGHT I DID. I’M FEELING SORT OF TIRED.”

“You too?” You question, and you notice a slight weight against your chest that wasn’t there before. “Do you think we can –“ You motion to the stove, but you don’t get all that far, before the sensation of Sans’ magic crackles through the air. You’d think it would have been the warm, fiery crackle of Papyrus’, as you had enlisted his help, but no. It definitely belonged to Sans.

Papyrus knits his brows together, turning to look over his shoulder at your boyfriend to scold him. “SANS, WHAT ON… EARTH…?”

You don’t like the way that he trailed off, and turning around, you feel the sensation a lot more intensely, like something is squeezing slowly tighter and tighter around your chest like an anaconda. You hadn’t noticed it before, but Sans is muttering a mantra of “no”s and “oh god”s under his breath. His head is in his hands, and his eye is flashing, magic causing it to burn brighter than you’ve ever seen it, a trail of what looked like vapor – or perhaps excess magic runoff is leaving it and drifting up towards the ceiling while his fingers crackle with the energy, what looks to be blue electricity arching through and around his bone structure.

“Sans?” You question, and you notice now that your voice is quite small, and everything seems so much more sluggish than it had. You’re positive now that something is happening, but despite Sans’ outward appearance, you don’t believe that it’s him causing it.

“SANS, QUIT IT,” Papyrus offers with a stuttering, false bravado. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY. WHAT’S GOING ON?” You’ve never heard fear in the taller skeleton’s voice before.

The only response the two of you get from him is a strangled sound that tapers off into a desperate whine, magic crackling again and causing you to feel a little dizzy.

Acting against all common sense, you push past Papyrus and head towards Sans. Without touching him, out of fear of what his unchecked magic could accomplish, you merely try to get his attention desperately until you manage a very loud, authoritative,

“ ** _Sans_**!”

His head snaps up to look at you, and he’s shaking now, murmuring nonsense you can’t even make out. Papyrus joins you, and the two of you watch and try to discern what he’s saying until:

“*it’s happening,” he says, and he sounds nigh on delirious, desperate, and there’s almost a laugh in his tone that makes you question his mental faculties. Before you can ask what it is he means, he grabs your hands, and your eyes go out of focus, your muscles tensing from the unleashing energy. “*… _RESET_.”

The last word is all you hear, and you find your knees collapsing underneath yourself. Papyrus is understandably confused and borderline horrified, and you desperately try to explain between fits of your voice losing itself or having to stop talking and breathe because of the way your chest is so, so tight, and your muscles so, so tense.

Sans and Papyrus join you on the floor, and you clutch the both of them close to you, and from next to you, you can hear that Papyrus is having a hard of time breathing as you are. Glancing over Sans’ shoulder, you can see pieces of the skyline drifting up, and you don’t know what to do. There’s nothing you can do.

“I don’t want to not exist,” you cry out, “I don’t want to start over!”

Sans clutches you and Papyrus tightly, whispering in your ears that it’ll all be over soon, trying to calm the two of you with sweet nothings.

You choke out a gasp, and then a sob when you see the disintegration reach the building next to you, and you whisper over and over between sobs that you love them, you love _him_ , and you feel his tears stain your cheek as he murmurs affirmatives and agreements.

“*i promise i’ll find you again,” and you feel Papyrus clutch your hand tighter, his voice fierce as he corrects Sans.

“ _WE_ WILL FIND YOU AGAIN.”

When it reaches you, you scream in agony, clawing at the first place it gets you, as though it’ll help. Papyrus puts on a brave face, but you can feel more than hear his sharp inhale and the way his teeth grind together, hand clutching yours so tightly that it almost hurts more than being rend apart. Before it gets too far, though, Sans places a hand on either of your heads, forcefully knocking the both of you out with his magic so you didn’t have to live through any more of it.

_“*i’m so sorry.”_

* * *

 

 

It’s a warm day in late August, and you’re on your way home from your doctor’s appointment, waiting in the lobby for the elevator. You’re exhausted from the switch of your schedule for the day, and you’re not expecting to see what you do in the elevator. There’s a skeleton there, short and unsettling. It takes in a sharp breath, and you realize you’re staring too long when the doors start to close. Cursing, you manage to step into the elevator.

You lean against the back wall, not sure how to react. You’re sure that you’re being rude, but in all honesty, looking at said skeleton is remarkably unsettling. It’s like staring into the face of your inevitable demise.

“*what do skeletons call their homies?” The voice questions, and through the voice you realize, oh. It’s not an it, it’s a he. You take a beat too long to respond, having not expected the question, but you decide to bite.

“I don’t know, what do skeletons call their homies?”

“*vertebruhs, because they’ve always got each other’s backs.”

You can’t help yourself when you smile, and you see him hold his hand out to you. Deciding to be polite, you shake it, and it lasts just a beat too long.

“*i’m sans. sans the skeleton,” he says, and you find yourself giving your name in turn.

“So,” you start, “you’re a comic, Sans?”

His smile grows, and seems to get warmer, almost. You wonder how you can glean that from his expression.

“*something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay. I'd like to thank every single one of you for reading this nonsense and sticking with me through it all. This probably isn't how anyone expected this story to go, but I've had this ending written for about a week already. I was just working up to being able to use it.
> 
> But never fear! I, Jason, am not done with this universe yet, oh no. You may have wondered what that series is all about, and... honestly, it's pretty self-explanatory.
> 
> I'll be setting up shop with two other stories belonging to this universe, one set of stories will be NSFW drabbles for those who want to have some sins - I just didn't want to add them to this main story just in case no one wanted to read that. These two are two precious as is.
> 
> The next thing will be a series of request drabbles, based on suggestions from you all. I'm considering opening up a tumblr for this story as well to take requests from, if you don't feel like leaving a comment here. What do you guys think? I'll end up compiling everything I write into that drabble compilation here, though, and maybe post it them there, too, if ya'll are interested.
> 
> So thank you again for riding Air Jason, and I hope you've had a wonderful... /flight/.


End file.
